Fortress of Darkened Stars
by Jantallian
Summary: Slim and Jess set out to investigate some mysterious and shocking disappearances, but find that things are complicated by the appearance of an old enemy and the unexpected involvement of a certain young lady. (J & C AU 5)
1. Chapter 1

Before the story starts …

There's been a lot of comment in reviews recently about what fanfiction should be like. There is no specific way on the site for writers to express their views, which is why there is an introduction to this story. My own take on it is that there are 3 main areas: Strict canon (only what is actually in episodes, perhaps first-person or from another point of view, no added material), Developed canon (filling in the gaps in episodes, before/after & links between them) and Extended canon (picking up broader themes and ideas, prequels and sequels, family and other background, AU, exploring 'what if', etc.)

I do take on board what has been said about focusing on the importance of the core characters and I have born this in mind when writing new stuff. But don't forget that there are many episodes, especially Season 3 and 4, where only one of our heroes is involved and the rest of the characters are more or less relegated to the tag or even not present at all. Not saying this is a good idea, but it did happen. And pretty well every episode had some new characters (remember all those guest stars?).

The J & C AU stories obviously fall into the third category. In the TV series it is necessary for any female interest to be smartly shot dead, shipped off to California or shoved into marriage with someone else by the end of the episode. But … what if …? Inevitably, since this story explores how relationships develop and affect each other, not everyone is going to like it! So if this is not how you think things should happen, thank you for your patience and time in reading: I do appreciate that your ideas are different. If you do like the series, I hope you enjoy this one. Oh, and to those who have asked, there is no possible way in which Chantal Picard is a projection of me – not without some really drastic changes to one or other of us!

Spanish/French dialogue: the story can be understood without translation, as the sense is usually evident from the context and many words are similar in English. If you like translations as you go along, open Chapter 15 in a separate window and you can refer as you read.

And finally (yeah, come on, let's get on with the story!), the proper place for this kind of discussion is in a Laramie forum, of which we have one on this site. If enough readers participated, I'd be happy to post these thoughts over there instead of here.

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 **FORTRESS OF DARKENED STARS**

Jantallian

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 **PART 1**

' _Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that,_

 _if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come_.'

Anne Lamott

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 **1**

"Are you being deliberately aggravating?"

Faced with this question from a seriously beautiful young woman, Jess Harper's eyebrows shot up to such an extent that they were partially hidden by the lock of dark hair falling across his forehead.

Chantal Picard regarded him with suspicion. Both eyebrows usually meant he was genuinely surprised, whereas one, in her experience, was likely to indicate amusement, sarcasm, disbelief or possibly outright scheming deception. But you never knew for certain.

"Me? Aggravatin'?" Jess had to make a swift decision between sounding bewildered and outraged or innocent and hurt. He decided, unwisely, on the latter. "I ain't never -"

"Really?" Chantal retorted. She had come across Jess's look of injured innocence enough times not to be fooled by it. She bent over the stitch she was putting in his arm and added, "Don't fidget!"

"You sure y' know what y' doin'?" Jess enquired in an attempt to distract her.

"It was your socks I said I wouldn't sew up, not you - although frankly, hombre terco, the socks would be a darned sight more grateful!"

The pun made them all laugh, but the implications forced Slim Sherman's eyebrows to climb up his forehead as well. He hadn't realised this acquaintance had progressed as far as discussing who darned whose socks - but then Chantal and Jess never failed to baffle him with their volatile and unpredictable interaction. He was leaning wearily against the bedhead, because there was nowhere else in the dilapidated hotel room to sit except a rickety looking desk chair with a broken back and the armchair in which Chantal had Jess very effectively pinned down. The combined effects of a gruelling investigation of unforgiving terrain and twenty-four hours of more or less unbroken surveillance suggested he just stretch out and sleep, but that would be impolite. Besides, he was watching with interest and some satisfaction as Jess got his come-uppance in no uncertain terms for his latest act of recklessness.

"And you are being aggravating!" Chantal reverted to her original point as she gave the needle a rather harder jab than was perhaps strictly necessary.

"Ow! That hurt!"

"Rubbish! He's just trying to change the subject by playing for sympathy," Slim chipped in, being of a mind to agree with Chantal on the subject of Harper-provoked aggravation. He grinned and warned her: "Jess has a special compartment in his brain labelled 'That did not hurt' – then when it does, he shoves it in there and believes it! That's right, isn't it, you maddening Texan?"

"More or less," Jess admitted sheepishly. "It doesn't."

"Doesn't what?" Chantal asked curiously.

"Hurt!" Jess spat out between gritted teeth.

She regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments, before saying meaningfully as she twisted the cap of the iodine bottle: "I'll bear that in mind."

"Oh no you don't!" Jess had suddenly registered that the bottle did not contain a restorative dose of whiskey.

"Shall I let your arm fester and drop off?" Chantal suggested sweetly.

"Be a big boy and take your medicine nicely!" Slim taunted.

"The only thing goin' down my throat is a damn great slug o' whiskey!"

"It's going on your arm, idiot!" Chantal snapped in exasperation, "and it's the only thing going anywhere near your body in the state it's in. Whiskey indeed!"

It was true that, besides the sewn-up slash from a broken glass, Jess's torso was liberally ornamented with cuts, bruises and friction burns, as befell one who had launched themselves off a bluff into a forest, secured only by a thin and seemingly inadequate rope. "What is it with you and cliff-faces?" she demanded as an after-thought.

"Some kind of hidden attraction to what I find on them?" One eyebrow quirked up in amusement. Then a thought appeared to strike him. "And would you mind telling me what the hell you think you're doin' here anyway?"

Chantal glared at him. Putting both hands on his shoulders, regardless of the stitching, she gave him the kind of shaking Slim had often administered. "Not until you remember the correct thing to say is: 'Hello, Chantal, it's nice to see you again'."

 _Again?_ Slim thought. _Since Christmas?_ He felt he was losing the plot here or, at any rate, missing some serious information. _Exactly what had Jess been up to on those horse-selling trips?_

Chantal, meanwhile, had sloshed a liberal amount of iodine on to the wound, causing Jess's breath to hitch and his eyes to blink back smarting tears which he would certainly not admit to. "Yeah, sure is nice to see y' – just don't feel too good right now!"

"That," Chantal told him firmly, "is why you are being so aggravating. You cannot possibly intend to go down there straight away. You must be mad!" She too caught her breath and then, pleading for a little delay, said softly, "Espera un momento, Terco, pour favour …?"

"Debo. No hay excusa," Jess replied equally softly. He'd never been one to make excuses out of his injuries and what he must do, he would do. Instead, he rummaged in his saddle bag for a less battered shirt, since the one he had been wearing, rinsed of the stains on the sleeve, was now drying over the fire.

Slim decided this was the point at which he pulled himself together and made the effort to get on with the task he and Jess had set themselves. At least if he did, Jess would be spared further involvement in confrontations of the kind which had earned him the glass slash. Besides, Slim was sensitive enough to know that when this pair started to talk to each other in Spanish, or, to a lesser extent, French, they had things to say which did not need an audience.

He started to heave himself upright, saying as he did so: "I'll check out the saloons and see what rumours are going round." His good intentions, however, were wasted.

"My face is known now -" Jess asserted truthfully.

"But –" Slim didn't have a chance to object because Jess over-rode his protestations, stating firmly: "No one's goin' to bother a losing gambler – especially if he's just concentrating on escortin' a woman –"

"A lady!" Chantal put in crossly. "And I'm glad to know you'll be concentrating!"

Jess flicked her a brief glance and said seriously, "No place for ladies in a place like this. Think you can cope?"

When she nodded, an approving gleam lit his eyes.

"But you can't risk her!" Slim objected.

At this, both Chantal and Jess laughed aloud. Slim had a distinct feeling that it was the word 'risk' they found funny. This seemed to be confirmed when Chantal murmured, 'I think I've had some practice in taking risks."

"But I –" Slim tried again.

"No-one knows you're even here," Jess pointed out. "Let's keep it that way. If anyone recognises me, it'll be all to the good if they think I'm sick of respectable life on a ranch - and they won't think that if you're seen around. And anyway, you'll be doin' the night shift again tonight and climbin' that rope I so conveniently put there for you." He shoved his partner unceremoniously back on the bed and held him down with his good arm. "Now stay there and rest or I'll knock you out!"

"You and whose army?" Slim retorted, but without putting up much of a struggle.

Jess looked over his shoulder and winked at Chantal. "I don't need an army - I'll just turn you over to the French!"

"Dans te reves!" Chantal told him. She smiled at Slim and said, "Get some sleep. I'll keep Jess in order."

"You can order me some food," Jess told her as he picked up his hat, seized her by the elbow and steered her determinedly towards the door. "I'm starvin'!"

 _Nothing new in that_ , Slim thought, not for the first time. Chantal had obviously become familiar with Jess's insatiable appetite, since Slim heard her telling him off in no uncertain terms as the door shut behind them. The telling off was in French, which seemed to indicate a certain fraying of her quick temper. Slim grinned to himself and, seeing he had already lost this one, settled back to sleep.

 **# # # # #**

In the one almost-respectable café in the dead-beat town in the middle of nowhere, Jess commandeered a table in a quiet corner, well out of earshot of any other customers He settled Chantal where she was clear of the line of the door and himself so that he could see both the door and the window onto the street. When the serving girl approached to take their order, he simply contrived to appear half-starved and, dropping thick lashes over those blue eyes, looked up at her appealingly and said plaintively, "Ain't had nothin' t'eat since yesterday. Breakfast? A big breakfast?"

It was well past the time for it, but the girl nodded willingly, although she shot a telling glance at Chantal, who merely remarked, "I will have toast and coffee, thank you." When the girl departed towards the kitchen Chantal aimed a well-earned kick at her companion's ankle. "You are the biggest fraud and the most – the most -"

"Aggravatin'?" Jess suggested with a grin.

"Tu est un flirteur sans principes!"

"If it gets us quick service …" he shrugged, his expression suddenly closing down to that inscrutable mask which meant serious business. "Now, tell me what the hell you're doin' turnin' up in this God-forsaken excuse for a town!"

"I've got a message for you."

"A message?" Chantal had the satisfaction of seeing him look totally dumbfounded for only about the second time in their acquaintance.

"Yes."

"Who from?" Jess's eyebrows drew together in his formidable frown and he growled, not for the first time, "I'm waitin'!"

"I happened to run into Stewart St John Warwick. He thought I might be able to get the information to you without it being obvious it came from him."

"You aren't exactly inconspicuous," Jess pointed out drily. He had a shrewd suspicion that the choice of messenger had quite a lot to do with Chantal's innate sense of adventure. "So come on – put me out of my misery! What exactly has he got to tell me?"

"That the Ranulfiar know about what you're investigating and it's more wide-spread than you think. He said you should be careful because it's well-organised - the stakes are high and the leaders ruthless. And Bud Carlin tricked his way out of the state prison around the time it started."

She wondered, as she had when she was given the message, if telling Jess to be careful would have any effect whatsoever. But she also had an instinctive feeling he would be more likely to obey Warwick than anyone else, especially if they had military history together. As she watched his reaction, she could see that the news was unexpected and serious.

"Carlin!" Jess's face darkened and his breath hissed between his teeth. "That's all we need."

"He seemed to think you might need back up?" she added cautiously. "And he said to send a normal message." She waited to see what effect this additional instruction had. Jess just nodded absently and muttered, "You think when they were lockin' him up, they'd've done a good job and thrown away the key!"

"So are you going to send a message or do you want me to do it?" she enquired helpfully. Then, when there was no response: "Why a normal message?"

Jess came back to reality with an obvious effort. His reply, however, did not seem to answer her question directly. "D'you meet Cal when you were given this message?" When she nodded, he looked pleased and continued, "What did you think of him?"

"A politer version of you!" Chantal said candidly, and Jess admitted: "True enough!"

"I presume you are related?" She got another grin when she added, "I just can't get used to the idea of you with red hair!"

"Guess there was a glitch when they handed that out - I'm the one with the temper and Cal got the hair. He's the soul of good humour," Jess told her, "or at least, he is most of the time."

"I expect you drive him to distraction, just like the rest of us!"

Jess ignored this jibe and demanded, as if it had just crossed his mind: "Who drove you here anyway?"

"Samson. The last bit, anyway."

"Good! He'll be –"

He was cut short in his response by the arrival of their food. The girl had certainly done him proud with a laden plate of breakfast. Chantal's toast was burnt. It took her only a swift glance to register this. Immediately she grabbed Jess's plate before he could get his fork into it and smiled sweetly at the girl. "Bring him another – and make it quick. He's got a terrible temper when he's hungry!"

"Yeah – and neither of us eats charcoal!" Jess handed the toast back, but took the sting out of the words with a perfectly charming smile. "Could you squeeze a bit more of everything on the next plate? Guess I need to eat much more'n any woman!"

"You'll be eating a plate and a half anyway," Chantal observed tartly as the waitress hurried away.

"Maybe I'd better have half of yours now, just in case she poisons the next lot," Jess suggested hopefully, waving his fork in Chantal's direction.

"Don't be stupid – it's me she wants to poison!" Chantal pointed out. "And stop waving that fork at me. It won't hurt you to wait!"

Waiting was never a thing Jess did willingly, unless he was stalking something or someone, and still less did he like waiting for food. He was eyeing Chantal's plate with such a wistful, deprived look on his face that she nearly gave in. Nearly, but not quite. Instead, to distract him, she repeated her question.

"Why did Lieutenant Warwick –" Chantal began, but Jess interrupted her with a sound which was half snort, half laugh.

"Vin," he corrected, "we call him Vin. His second name is Vincent, but it's a kind of joke." He looked hard at her for a moment and added: "A family joke."

"So why did he say to send a normal message?" Chantal was nothing if not persistent, as Jess had already learnt to his cost.

He hesitated, as if weighing something up in his mind. He said quietly, casually, "Cal's my cousin. We share each other's dreams when we need to." He paused, watching her reaction carefully, then went on, "Well, actually it's usually Cal sharin' my dreams. He knows when I'm needin' him."

Chantal considered all this unexpected information and suddenly chuckled too: "I get it – Cal-vin instead of Callum – a family joke!" Thinking some more, she added shrewdly, "Dream-sharing, did you say? I suppose Lieut … Vin prefers more conventional communications?"

Jess nodded wryly. "You can say that again. If I had a dollar for every time he's said 'Why can't you just send a telegram?' I could be retirin' to California right now!"

"Do you want to?" Chantal asked, momentarily diverted.

"Want to what?"

"Retire to California?"

"No. Too many other people doin' that!" was the brief answer, followed by the unexpected information: "Anyway, my big sister's in California an' –"

But the arrival of a very full plate of breakfast stopped these interesting revelations. Chantal watched with amusement the speed at which Jess could dispose of a sizable meal. After a while, she ventured another question: "Were you by any chance starved as a child?"

"Yeah." A shadow passed across Jess's face as he paused momentarily, his fork poised over a sausage. Then he added, "And most of my adult life too."

Starvation, sisters, dream-sharing, mysterious brotherhoods – for that, she presumed, was what the Ranulfiar were – and cryptic messages. She was learning a lot about Jess Harper this time, which was a pleasant surprise, as he was not usually forthcoming with personal information. Maybe it was the food distracting him, because he was still regarding her half-eaten plate of breakfast as if it might be mortally offended someone hadn't finished it.

"Eat up!" he instructed briefly. "As soon as we're finished, you're gettin' straight back in the wagon and Samson's drivin' you out of here, like he brought you in."

"I am not!"

Jess's black brows drew together in that formidable frown of his and he growled: "Escúchame, Tal! You're gonna do exactly what I tell you for once!"

"Como siempre?" Chantal inquired sweetly.

"I'll probably never live to see the day you _usually_ do as I tell you!" Jess admitted, with a reluctant grin. "And, right now, I'd like to live a bit longer."

"And I'd like to be around to make sure you do because I've patched you up after whatever madness you've got in mind next!" Chantal informed him firmly. "Or were you forgetting you're supposed to survive to shock those grandchildren of yours, Temerario?"

"And I'm gonna survive with you gettin' under my feet?"

"I've learnt not to," she protested indignantly.

"I guess you've learnt quite a bit since that first cliff," Jess admitted. He stopped and thought for an appreciable moment, before telling her seriously, "Alright. Provide Slim agrees. But if y' gonna stay, we need a cover story and a plan." A wicked glint came into his eye as he added, "And you know what I'll do if you don't stick to it, exactly like I tell you! ʖLo entiendes?"

When she nodded her acceptance, he continued: "Al presente, escúchame …"

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Vin, Cal and the Ranulfiar (pronounced Ran-ulf-yar) also appear in _My Brother's Keeper._ In Vin's surname, St. John is pronounced the English way - sinjon.


	2. Chapter 2

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 **2**

Some hours later Slim awoke from a much-needed but not particularly refreshing sleep. He still felt a distinct reluctance to move from where he was stretched out on the lumpy bed, but he instantly sensed that he was not alone in the room. He was also acutely aware that the other person was not Jess, as long familiarity born of living under the same roof assured him. So who was it? Whoever they were, their intentions did not seem to be hostile, at least not at the moment, although in this town you never knew and it paid to be careful.

So he settled for opening his eyes a crack very cautiously in order to check out the room. The only comfortable chair (if it could be dignified as such!) had been drawn up to the window, to make the most of the light. The figure sitting in it was silhouetted against the sunbeams, which glanced dazzlingly off a waterfall of silver-gold hair.

Recollection smote Slim smartly and he closed his eyes hastily, wondering if he should fake continued slumber. He had an instinctive feeling, however, that he had been rumbled. _Anyway, what was he fussing about_? He opened his eyes again, stretched and hoisted himself into sitting position. _At least he wasn't actually in bed, thereby saving potential embarrassment._ Somehow, though, he doubted if much embarrassed Chantal Picard – not if her history with Jess was anything to go by, anyway.

She was industriously concentrating on mending the more-or-less dry shirt in which Jess had had his close encounter with certain trees. When Slim stirred, she looked up with a grin and a conspiratorial wink: "Don't tell him, will you?"

"I thought you said you wouldn't darn for him?" Slim pointed out in puzzlement.

"Socks," Chantal replied concisely. "I draw a line at socks. Shirts are a pain, too."

More puzzlement: "Then why are you darning it?"

"It takes my mind off whatever trouble he's getting into now."

"Really? I'd've thought it would remind you of the last lot?" Slim suggested.

"Yes, but he survived that!" Chantal pointed out. "Anyway, don't give me away. I don't want him thinking I'm going to take on the job permanently." She paused to think for a moment and added with amusement: "Although given his ability to land up to his ears in trouble, I should think there'll be plenty more where this came from."

Slim laughed. "Jonesy reckons Jess does it deliberately – some kind of a vendetta against shirts."

This made Chantal giggle. "I guess it is a permanent job then. Pity neither Jonesy nor I want it!"

"You don't?" The words were out of Slim's mouth before he had thought about them. He was instantly embarrassed, as he felt he had no business to be asking Chantal any such question. But it was too late now. He'd just spoken from his heart and it was always intensely protective of his family, including Jess. And judging by the amount of fighting he and Chantal did, Slim was not at all sure that one or other or both of them didn't need some kind of protection.

Chantal dropped the shirt into her lap and gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Not the darning. The rest …" She hesitated, clearly unsure how Slim was going to react. "Knowing Jess is knowing he's going to attract trouble like the sparks fly upward, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Slim nodded. "A couple of years of living with him has certainly taught me that!"

Chantal giggled again. "A couple of encounters did, in my case! Not that I mind the trouble, I rather like it, only he will yell at me to get the hell out from under his feet."

"He does?" Slim blinked in surprise. "And you put up with him yelling?"

"It's usually justified," Chantal admitted with unusual candour. "And anyway I do my fair share of yelling back."

"You do!" Slim told her feelingly. "It's most disconcerting."

"It is?" She thought about this. "I suppose you think women should be quiet and gentle and know their place?"

"I do not!" Slim was stung into defensiveness by this accusation, but Chantal took no notice.

"I've got four brothers between me and Celestine. And I'm the eldest."

"That makes a difference?"

"It means I made my father give me the same training they had," Chantal told him and explained: "I can shoot and ride as well as they can and, in my own way, I'm a mean fighter too! But Jess has some pretty exacting standards, so I'm having to learn plenty more skills and much more accuracy."

It was Slim's turn to think. Most of his encounters with Jess and Chantal together had given him the impression their wrangling was fraught with potential danger to life and limb. Now it had become evident Chantal was more than capable of giving Jess a run for his money. Slim was not sure how this made him feel, but he had to re-evaluate his own reactions: it certainly explained why Jess seemed so casual about Chantal's safety.

As if to confirm this thought, she went on: "I'm not anything like as fragile as I look!" It was true enough if she had made the arduous journey from the East by train, stage and wagon, purely with the intention of finding Jess. He shied away for the moment from the sheer nerve and single-mindedness this implied: it certainly wasn't the kind of thing you expected a woman to do.

"I guess not. What I can't guess is what you're doing in a place like this. Do you know how dangerous it is?"

Chantal nodded briefly and explained: "I came with a message for Jess."

"A message?" Slim's eyebrows shot up again.

"Yes. I happened to meet his former commanding officer and agreed to bring a message from him."

"From the Ranulfiar? You know Warwick?" For a moment Slim's expression revealed uncertainty and confusion. Chantal observed this with sudden understanding. The bond between Slim and Jess was so strong that any other allegiance was going to be a challenge.

"I met him quite by accident," she corrected. "He'd heard about the problem the two of you are investigating and he wanted to send a warning. He needed a messenger who wouldn't be connected with his investigation or yours."

Slim looked about as convinced by this explanation as Jess had been. But something else was driving his thoughts, even beyond the present task. "Warwick knew you and Jess are …" he hesitated, searching for an appropriate word and finally settling on; "acquainted?" It was a bitter thought that Jess would confide such a relationship to someone else when he had never discussed it with Slim.

Chantal shook her head and a reminiscent smile lit up her face. "I met Callum Harper at the same time."

Illumination and relief flooded through Slim. Things were beginning to make sense.

"And once you've met Cal," Chantal continued laughingly, "the connection with Jess is blindingly obvious."

"It certainly is." Slim had to admit that the physical resemblance between the two cousins was uncanny. Temperamentally, of course, they were completely different: the calm, responsible Callum Harper had been heard to lament on more than one occasion his close link with his reckless and impetuous younger cousin.

"I'm afraid I immediately jumped to the relationship and took advantage." Actually Chantal didn't seem at all apologetic. Slim spared a brief feeling of commiseration with Cal and Vin Warwick, even though he had yet to enter into a relaxed relationship with these two men who knew Jess's past so well. He had, however, had enough experience of Chantal's single-minded determination and contempt for convention to feel a brotherly sympathy in the face of her undoubted onslaught on the unsuspecting members of the Ranulfiar.

"So you agreed to get a message to Jess … to us?"

"Yes. They know about the situation you trying to get proof of and the Ranulfiar will provide back-up if you need it. He said to be careful – it's a big operation - and also because Bud Carlin escaped when it all began."

Slim's reaction was similar to Jess's. He seemed to withdraw into thought, shutting down all his responses as he considered the last piece of information. Like Jess, he clearly took it very seriously. Although she could not know it, this was scarcely surprising, since it was in conflict with Carlin that their friendship had been forged.

Chantal was watching him closely. She could read the similarity of reaction, even if she didn't know the circumstances. But she respected its intensity and just waited until Slim was ready to resume the conversation.

When he did, it was with a question. "Did Warwick explain what we're investigating?"

She shook her head and he continued: "But Jess must have told you?"

Chantal's expression became entirely serious as she replied bluntly: "He said I had to ask you. You're in charge. If you don't want me to know because I'll jeopardise what you're doing, I'm to mind my own business and keep out of it – sin argumento!"

"And you're willing to do that?"

Chantal nodded and said: "I respect your decision." The slightest smile touched her lips as she murmured, half to herself, "And I know when Jess _really_ means it!"

Perhaps it was Jess's unexpected deferral to his authority or perhaps just a realisation that Chantal's response was both honest and sincere. Whatever the reason and without a moment's hesitation, Slim told her.


	3. Chapter 3

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 **3**

Nightfall found Slim and Alamo picking their way cautiously through the same trees into which Jess had crashed less than twenty four hours ago. It was important to avoid leaving tracks and part of their progress was along the bed of a gorge, in which the stream still had a reasonable depth of water.

As darkness closed in, Slim mentally ran through the surprising events of a long day: _In the small hours, he'd brought their horses up the same way, only to find Jess looking predictably battered after an uncontrolled descent from the stockade. He'd been trying unsuccessfully to bind the ragged cut on his upper arm, which was bleeding freely. They'd managed to make it back to the dilapidated hotel without anyone spotting them together. Jess had used the front entrance, since he was the official occupant of the room. When Slim joined him, sneaking in up the back stairs, both of them got a considerable shock to find the room already had another unofficial occupant - Chantal was peacefully curled up on the bed, reading an out-of-date newspaper she had purloined from the lobby. It was probably the same shock which enabled her insist on sewing up Jess's cut before he had even had time to draw breath and protest. In any case, as she pointed out smartly, it was his own fault for teaching her how to pick locks!_

Tonight Slim was aiming to make the risky ascent into the stockade on the bluff, using the rope which Jess had fixed and down which he had descended with rather less control than he would have had with two good arms. The rope was thin, but very tough, and, being grey, it was virtually invisible against the rough pales of the stockade and the cliff-face itself. Slim was an excellent climber with a good head for heights, tempered by a fine sense of caution.

He tethered Alamo some way below under the trees and made his approach with the uttermost stealth. Listening, he could hear the occasional movements of the guards as they patrolled but, as Jess had noted, they did not bother much with the perimeter on the cliff-edge, for obvious reasons. The only danger was that Slim would be spotted as he actually surmounted the stockade itself, but the waning moon and the bright stars were obscured by clouds, and if he took it real slow, he had a good chance of escaping observation. The best time would be the changeover of the guard, around midnight, when they would be paying attention to each other, not the fence. Slim hunkered down behind a convenient rock and waited.

He had no idea what he would find inside. _The previous evening, Jess had managed to gain access by getting involved in a poker school which the off-duty guards had started in the town below and continued in their own quarters when they had to return to the fort. Since he had taken care to lose enough money to appear an easy and not too bright victim, greed made them overlook the rules and bring him along too. Slim was willing to bet the guards would suffer hell if Carlin really was in charge and found out about this. Riding up in the wagon with them, Jess's view of the compound had been restricted, although he was able to find out valuable information about their duties and routines. The fight which broke out provided him with an ideal opportunity and he had managed to slip away, saying he'd rather walk home than face another broken glass. Since everyone else was spectating enthusiastically, he was able to climb onto on the walkway inside the stockade undetected. But he had been too busy fixing the rope, which he had concealed beneath his shirt, and preventing his dripping blood from giving him away to get a detailed idea of the layout._ Slim would just have to take a chance on what was behind the walls. He could make a grim guess about what to expect, but he would have to improvise once he found out what the inside of the fort was actually like.

The night was cold, but a low, hot fury burned in Slim because of the mysterious crime they were investigating. His caring heart found it hard to endure that anyone could act in such callous and cruel way towards the weak and helpless, although his well-grounded realism and experience knew it was more than possible. He resolutely controlled his feelings, resolved to act with his head, not his heart – unlike Jess …

This thought brought him back to Chantal's reaction when he had explained to her how the disappearance of two local orphans and the attempted kidnapping of Mike had set them on this trail.

" _Not Mike!" Chantal had been horrified. Although she had not yet met him, she knew how much the orphaned little boy meant to Slim and to Andy and to Jonesy, but most of all, she knew Jess's feelings. And for the child to be almost torn away from his new-found security was too horrible!_

" _Mike's tough and quick," Slim had hastened to assured her and added with a smile: "and when he wants to hide, he's a little devil to find – as we all well know from bath-time! He hid until they gave up. He saw enough to identify one man for us and we got the information out of him which led us here."_

" _And you got the information without Jess actually killing him?" Chantal definitely knew his reactions too well._

" _Yes, but it was a near thing," Slim admitted._

" _Of course it was!" she had retorted. "Jess would kill anyone who hurt Mike or Andy. Or you or Jonesy, for that matter." She was unconsciously rubbing the long, thin scar which ran across the palm of her left hand. "It's a good job you're in charge!"_

 _Slim had been caught by surprise once more. The girl was a realist, whatever she did or didn't feel about Jess. She'd laughed heartily when he explained how he had forced Jess to stay in the barn while he carried out the interrogation himself, by the simple expedient of getting the man drunk and talkative. Since he hadn't actually committed a crime, there was no reason for him to be locked up, but at least only one of them would be known to the gang when he rejoined them. It meant Slim had to keep out of sight now, but that could work to their advantage, not least because Jess could pose as a lone and reckless gambler._

Now he was glad he'd left the pair of them peacefully playing cards in the hotel room. Jess was probably teaching Chantal to deal off the bottom of the pack, but at least it would keep them both out of trouble … maybe …

 **# # # # #**

Jess was peacefully demonstrating how to deal off the bottom of the pack. Chantal was paying close attention.

Jess was only doing it because everyone else was: it was an unwritten rule in this game. Well, maybe not a rule exactly, but everyone was out to cheat everyone else. Chantal was paying close attention while giving an excellent impersonation of a rich, spoilt, bored and irritated young woman. Well, maybe it wasn't all an impersonation.

They were in one of several saloons in the town. All the saloons were almost equally disreputable. Slim would certainly not have countenanced taking a young woman into any of them, not matter how good her self-defence skills. Jess figured she'd probably be less of a liability if she was with him rather than let loose on her own. Besides, he'd lost quite a bit of money the previous night and he had every intention of recouping it: having a beautiful female at his side was a definite distraction for the other players. And anyway, it helped to pass the time. And it might produce some useful information. Somewhere at the back of his mind, however, he was conscious that Slim would probably have a fit. This awareness was pushed even further into the back of his mind as it didn't help him concentrate on the cards.

Chantal, leaning against the arm of his chair, was watching the leisurely and slightly arrogant way his lean, brown hands moved the cards and making an absent-minded note that, for once, the battered black gloves were missing. She would have thought being quick would have concealed the sleight of hand better. True, Jess could deal the cards in a vision-defying blur, but tonight it suited him to look casual and innocent and quite unconcerned about losing or winning. Nor did he pay the slightest attention to Chantal. So she continued to play the role they'd agreed upon – looking spoilt and bored and as if gambling in a saloon was a new experience, but not nearly exciting enough.

Presently she saw him flick two cards out of the hand and snap them back, as if by accident. She leaned over and said in a whisper intended to be overheard: "Are you going to play all night?"

Jess gave her a dismissive scowl. "Y' wanted t' see life. This is better'n the inside of a hotel room."

"Not if you're losing my father's money!" she hissed in reply. "He may forgive you for disobeying his orders, but never for wasting his profits!"

Jess grinned. It was not a pleasant grin. "Y'know perfectly well I'm only doin' my job – keepin' you safe! That's all I was hired for."

"Then you can keep me safe somewhere else!" She flounced away in the direction of the door, adding as a parting shot over her shoulder, "And don't expect me to pick up your debts!"

"No such chance!" Jess muttered as he gleefully raked in his winnings and quit the table. He caught up with Chantal on the sidewalk.

"Slow down, lady!" He grabbed her by the arm. "If you've got an escort, stick with him!"

Chantal stuck her nose in the air and shrugged off his restraining hand. "Keep your hands to yourself and keep out of my way!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Jess followed her in silence until they got back to the hotel room. Once he was through the door, he tossed his hat onto the back of the chair, ran his hands through his hair and stretched mightily. He made no comment on their brisk exit from the poker game.

"That was right, wasn't it?" Chantal sounded uncharacteristically nervous. She was sure she'd picked up Jess's signal and she hoped she'd followed through with the correct response, but it would be good to know for certain.

A mischievous grin flashed swiftly across Jess's face and was equally swiftly erased, as he said dead-pan: "Thought you'd just decided it would be more exciting to have me all to yourself?"

"Why, you -!" Chantal flew at him, but Jess grabbed her by the wrist and a handful of wildly swirling hair and neatly hauled her into an inescapable embrace.

"Quédate quieto!" he told her laughingly. "Hold still! Can't you tell yet when I'm jokin'?"

Chantal glared at him, struggling without result against his encircling arms. "This is a time for joking? I thought you said it was really important?"

Jess's expression instantly became totally serious. "Yes, it is. Y' did good." But he did not relax his firm hold on her. Instead he assumed that disarming look of innocent appeal and reverted to his previous comment: "You mean you don't want me to yourself?"

"As if I have any option!" Chantal snapped. "We're sharing a hotel room, aren't we? And I suppose we haven't been followed here by any company?" She considered for a moment exploiting the girl's best friend, the high heel, in order to inflict some punishment for his presumption. Jess obviously read her mind, because he tightened his grip, lifted her off her feet and deposited her abruptly in the armchair.

"Quédate tranquillo!" He repeated his previous instruction, adding: "It's safe enough now. You got us out of there very neatly and I don't think he spotted me."

"Which one is he?" Chantal demanded, once she had recovered her dignity and her breath.

"Sandy-haired fella in a light hat, smart jacket with dark lapels. Broad face, broad smile, looks as if he's real good-humoured until you see his eyes. Had three or four others with him, followin' his lead, of course." Jess looked positively venomous, but then his memories of Carlin were not good.

"I'd never have guessed," Chantal admitted with unusual humility. "He looks just like everyone's favourite uncle."

"Yeah, very useful to look like that," Jess pointed out. "He has a nice line in jovial chat and jokes too. Whatever you do, don't forget he's clever and ruthless as well."

Chantal nodded, taking the warning seriously, but she couldn't resist adding solemnly: "I'll be really careful how I flutter my eyelashes at him."

To her surprise, Jess took this tease at its face value. "It may come to that. We need to know what he's up to and Carlin's not goin' to forget Slim giving him a thrashing and me encouragin' him to do it." It was another good reason for concealing Slim's presence.

"Good for Slim – if Carlin's as evil as you both seem to think."

"He is! But what about good for me?" Jess objected.

"You'd just stir up trouble for the sheer hell of it!" Chantal pointed out shrewdly. "So what now?"

"For tonight, nothing. Except tryin' to catch up on some sleep." When she raised her eyebrows at this, Jess scowled and grumbled: "How come every time I'm in the same hotel as you, I end up sleepin' in a chair?"

"Last time was entirely your own fault for getting mixed up with a married woman," Chantal reminded him. "Anyway, you won't tonight," she continued with a smirk and a gleam in the jade-green eyes beneath those raised brows.

"I won't?" An answering gleam shone from Jess's blue gaze, but, at the same time, he didn't sound at all convinced.

"No, you won't. Because, if I know you, you aren't going to be in the hotel at all. You're going to be spending the night at the bottom of that rope, making sure Slim doesn't run into trouble!"

"I sure as hell hate it when you're right!" Jess admitted as he leaned over her and grabbed his hat from the back of the chair. There was a brief, silent pause, a sigh from someone, and then the door closed stealthily behind him.

 **# # # # #**

Slim too was employing all the stealth he could. What little light there was, from the old moon and the stars, was hidden by thick cloud and he doubted very much if anyone on the stockade could see more than a few feet. They would be relying on noise and movement to alert them to any attack. Since he was not going to attack, he stood a good chance of surmounting the fence without being detected. But Slim was naturally cautious and left nothing to chance, hence his stealthiness.

A few moments after midnight, he was crouching in the dense shadows on the inside of the stockade. No-one had spotted him or heard so much as a rustle as he slipped over the top. Now he needed to accustom himself to the layout of the place and try to find out if their guesses were right. Certainly, from what Jess had been able to ascertain, there was something to be concealed. And, judging by the number of men employed there, something to be guarded. It remained for him to find out what.

A careful survey of the enclosure within the stockade revealed the living quarters and bunk house to the right of the gate, where Jess had had his close encounter with a flying beer glass. He had insisted it had been purely accidental, the result of someone else's fight, which no-one even noticed. Slim was just grateful that it told him which area to avoid. There were various lean-to sheds around the inner wall and over in the far corner, to the left, the bulk of two tall, three-storey stone buildings. One was obviously a house, but the other seemed to be a store or possibly a defensive structure of some sort. It had no windows: only narrow slits in the walls admitted air but precious little light. Slim gave a nod of satisfaction. This was what he had come to find.

He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled slowly and unobtrusively along the inside of the stockade until he was next to the stone building. Interestingly, there were no guards. Presumably whoever was in charge thought the guard on the stockade gate was enough both to prevent escape and deter rescue. Because rescue was obviously needed. Slim's ears were alert to the slightest sound. Even outside the building, he could detect the subtle rustle of bodies moving in the dark and the subdued sound of stifled sobs and groans. His nostrils were assaulted by the unmistakable stench of a prison. He could see nothing, but he did not need to in order to imagine the conditions inside the building.

Quickly and silently, he slid down the ladder at the end of the walkway and found himself close to the only door into this prison. The door was barred in a way which suggested that there was no great expectation of the prisoners being able to escape. Admittedly there was a strong bar dropped into sockets at either side, but there was no lock or chain. From inside there was no way to break out. But outside there were no guards in the immediate vicinity and, more important, the bar did little to impede a determined rescue.

There was nothing Slim desired more at that moment than to carry out such a rescue. The sounds he could hear faintly on the still night air were cutting into his heart and filling him with a righteous anger which urged him to take action straightaway to right this terrible injustice. But he knew he could do nothing. Not now. Not until the rescue could be accomplished with enough support to prevent any possibility of failure. He knew they could call on the Ranulfiar to organise that support: his immediate responsibility was to gather enough information to make an effective rescue possible.

He had to make sure accurate information was conveyed and find a messenger he could rely on, perhaps by using Chantal's contact with the organisation which had sent her to them. _Perhaps Chantal could be persuaded to carry the message and take herself out of danger at the same time?_ A moment's consideration put paid to this idea. She was, as Jess put it, 'not exactly inconspicuous' and she had already been seen around the town with him. Given the cover story the pair of them had concocted, a sudden exit might cause exactly the kind of attention they wanted at all costs to avoid. No, it would have to be someone with a perfectly normal reason for leaving town – like the man who had driven the wagon which had brought Chantal there in the first place.

Having decided this, Slim set about exploring as much as he could of the inside of the fortress without being caught. This was less difficult than one might have supposed: the location of the place on top of a steep bluff obviously gave its occupants a false sense of security and made them guard the single outward approach, rather than the inside. In particular, he noted the possibility of blocking or barricading the outward-opening doors to the guards' quarters, so reducing their number and effectiveness. The store-sheds contained useful materials for doing just that. One also contained supplies of weapons and ammunition, and would have to be secured as soon as any rescue was launched.

He climbed silently back up the ladder and lay down at the top, gazing across the enclosure and committing its exact layout and proportions to memory. He worked out various means of gaining access and also the best way they could evacuate a number of rescued prisoners. The big, double-opening main gate was really to only means to do this, especially if the prisoners were dazed and confused, so it was essential that they also secured command of it immediately.

And then he notice the other gate. It was almost totally hidden in the shadow filling the narrow gap between the two stone buildings. Slim immediately slid back down the ladder. He needed to know for certain if this one would be of any use to the rescuers and if it could be used to bring in reinforcements.

The first thing he found was that it was heavily bolted and chained, reinforced with padlocks. This was puzzling, as not even the main gate was so well secured. The earth in front of the gate was considerably scuffed up as if many feet had passed through it, both in and out. On the edge of the tracks, he could distinguish the footprint of a small child, no bigger than Mike.

If nothing else, this reinforced the suspicions already raised by the prison itself. Slim drew a deep breath and forced himself to keep calm. That little footprint made him want to break down the prison door and smash anyone who tried to stop him. But, opposing this impulse, his natural common sense told him he would achieve nothing single-handed, except perhaps to get himself locked up or even killed. If that happened, no-one would know how the place might be attacked and the prisoners liberated.

Resolutely and silently, Slim climbed the ladder once more, waited for the right moment and swung himself over the stockade. He slid equally silently down the rope, which seemed to be much tauter than he anticipated. He was sliding much faster than he had expected too: his descent was careening into the uncontrollable and he looked fair to hit the ground with damaging force. Fortunately, at the bottom, his impetus was broken by the sudden impact of a resilient body and he was seized and steadied in a pair of strong arms.

"I thought you were good at ropes!" Jess rebuked him irritably. "What the hell were you doin'? Tryin' to break your neck?"


	4. Chapter 4

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 **4**

The shock of the impact and finding someone so unexpectedly at the end of the rope was considerable. Slim caught his breath and replied equally irritably, "I'd've been able to slow myself down if you'd left the rope slack instead of holding it taut!"

"Yeah?" Jess sounded supremely unimpressed. "I've got reason to know doin' that lands you right slap-bang in the trees!"

Slim could not deny this. After all, he had found Jess tangled in the branches, bleeding and bruised and cursing vehemently - but under his breath. He himself had survived unscathed during his investigation of the fort and his descent from the stockade, both thanks to the scouting Jess had done the previous night. All the same, he was deeply angry at what he had found, bone-weary from lack of sleep, and utterly surprised to find his partner was not safe in the hotel, guarding the woman who had got herself inextricably mixed up in this business. He was also determinedly not even thinking about what might have gone on in his absence. Suffice it to say, in his opinion, Jess had every reason to be looking after Chantal and none whatsoever leaving her to her own devices, about which Slim had severe misgivings!

These thoughts deprived his tongue of his usual courtesy. "What the heck are you doing here?" he demanded crossly and ungratefully and sounding uncannily like his partner's habitual reaction to the arrival of a certain young lady!

"Savin' you from makin' a hole in the forest?" Jess replied smugly.

"I thought you'd be fully occupied in town!" Slim told him.

Jess looked at him hard for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Tal don't need a body-guard," he said quietly. There was a moment of profound thought on both their parts, then Jess went on: "That's the point. And she'll stay put when she knows it matters."

He turned away and began to walk back to the horses. "C'm on! We've got trouble ahead of us. Carlin was in town tonight!"

Slim groaned. _As if they didn't have problems aplenty already!_ New worry surged to the fore. "He didn't spot you, did he?"

Jess shook his head. "We worked out a way to make a quick exit before he did." They had reached the horses and he picked up Traveller's reins and hopped into the saddle.

Mounting Alamo, Slim noted, almost in passing, the entirely natural way Jess said 'we'. He was also still thinking overtime. "It's bad news that Carlin was in the hotel."

"He wasn't." Jess turned Traveller and began to make his way carefully back down the gorge and the stream-bed.

"He wasn't?" Slim was baffled. "So where was he? Where did you see him?"

"Saloon," Jess told him briefly. "Where else would you expect?"

Slim urged Alamo alongside him, with some difficulty due to the terrain, and peered at his partner's face. Jess's hat was jammed even further over his eyes than usual and he was not looking at Slim. "But –"

"I won back the money I lost last night," Jess told him calmly. "And there's a rumour goin' round that something's gonna happen tomorrow – a big shipment, they said –" He paused and swallowed hard before continuing, "You know what that means!"

Slim nodded. All his anger surged up again as he thought of more children being brought in to some unknown fate, but to certain captivity. However, he was realistic as always and could face the unpalatable and inescapable fact: "There's nothing we can do to stop it!"

"Not without reinforcements," Jess agreed. They had finally made it from the gorge to a decent track and he cut short any further discussion of who else had been in the saloon by urging Traveller into a swift canter. "C'm on! We've got a message to send."

First light was touching the ramshackle buildings of the town when they rode in and stabled the horses. For some reason, no-one seemed to have noticed Alamo or if they did, presumably they thought the horse belonged to Chantal. No-one seemed to notice Slim either, which was what they'd hoped, but still disconcerting. After all, he wasn't the kind of person you overlooked. Provided there was no provocation to fight, Jess could do a fair job of merging with his surroundings, but deception was so alien to Slim's nature that he was, always and unmistakably, himself – at least unless dire necessity dictated otherwise. No-one spotted them retreating to their dingy and uncomfortable room and this time the only shock was to find Chantal had, from somewhere, procured the makings of a meal.

There was total silence as they both fell on the food like starving wolves. This was characteristic of Jess, who always behaved as if he had not seen a square meal in weeks, but Slim matched him for once, mouthful for mouthful. Both energy and resilience had been sapped by all they had done over the last twenty-four hours. After a brief tussle over the last bread roll – eventually divided equally – they both felt marginally more able to tackle their problems, only …

"Could y' just brew up a couple of pints of black coffee now?" Jess requested wistfully. On being told summarily he'd have to wait till the café opened, he added: "In that case, I ain't gonna ask where you got the food from!"

"Just as well," Chantal informed him. "Never mind what I've been doing! What did you find out?" She turned her beautiful green eyes on Slim with an expression which totally contradicted any notion that she might be fobbed off with a general answer.

Slim drew a deep breath and focused his inner vision on the layout and details of the fort which he had memorised. He spoke carefully and simply, repeating the key points, because he knew that once he had heard it, Jess would retain the information verbatim. Chantal too seemed to be paying acute attention to every detail.

"So we know where they're being held," Jess summarised, "and we know the strengths and weaknesses of the fort. But ain't there something peculiar about where it's built?"

"Yes, it's obvious once you get up there," Slim agreed. "The trail leads to the fort, but nowhere else. There are no tracks up or down the mountains around it. It's completely isolated. So what is it guarding?"

"Must be whatever's behind the locked gate you found," Jess said.

"And there's no way either of us is going to get through that gate."

"No. But I'm willin' to bet the kids go through it. Why else would they be locked up right next to it?"

"The footprints suggest that," Slim affirmed. "And whatever's on the other side is profitable enough to risk kidnapping and shipping a load of innocent youngsters from all over the country!"

"But we need to know what. We've gotta get proof." This brought them right back to where they had started, trying to find a reason for the attack on Mike and all the others who had been less lucky.

"And why children?" Chantal put in. "Quite little children, if Mike's age is anything to go by." She saw Jess's hands clench for a moment, then relax in all but the very slight movement of his left thumb against his palm. It was like the twitch at the tip of a cougar's tail.

"Yeah, what use can children be put to that adults …" Jess's voice trailed off and his face hardened into an emotionless mask. He knew from bitter experience what prisons were like and the fate of the most vulnerable inside them. If so, the use to which they were being put was too horrible to contemplate.

"If it's prostitution, I don't see the need for the locked gate," Chantal remarked calmly. "And if that's the business, it makes no sense to bring them all to a little town in the middle of nowhere."

Both men stared at her blankly for a moment, disconcerted once again by her realism.

"We know what is behind the gate is at the heart of this," she reiterated. "Whatever goes on there, it needs qualities which small children have – their size, their agility –"

"Their obedience!" Jess interjected. "Whatever they're bein' made to do, they ain't gonna be able to argue or fight like an adult would!"

"We have to get in," Slim growled, furious with frustration, "and we have to find a witness, just one witness who's willing and able to give evidence in court."

"You said the place is only barred," Jess reminded him. "Could we get one of them out?"

Slim shook his head. "How do you know what conditions are like inside? You might find them all chained up. Or they might be too frightened and beaten to trust you. Or you might get trampled in the rush for freedom – in which case the guards would just round them up and dispose of you."

Jess's hands clenched again, but he had to admit the justice of this. "What about getting inside ourselves and watching what happens?"

Slim shook his head and Chantal chuckled. "I can't see either of you being taken for even a twelve-year old!" A momentary gleam showed in her eyes as she said this, but they were both too preoccupied to notice.

"And there's no way we could escape detection in daylight," Slim pointed out. "Especially if we want to make it to the other side of that gate."

"Get taken on as guards?" Jess was not going to give up easily.

"Maybe. But did you get the impression they were hiring?"

It was Jess's turn to shake his head in frustration. "No. From what I heard, none of them were locals. Mostly gang members and not long out of prison. And someone has a hold over them which makes sure they'll keep their mouths shut about what goes on. Fear ... or loyalty … or just money, a lot of money!"

"Makes sense if Carlin's got a hand in it! He's a long-headed schemer."

"He ain't never gonna believe you'd want to sign up with him," Jess said thoughtfully, "But he might just believe I'm up for hire - for a high price, of course." He did, after all, have a reputation to maintain.

"Maybe he won't want to dig that deep into his profits!" Slim joked half-heartedly.

"And whatever else he ain't doin', he'll be turnin' in a good profit!" Jess observed savagely.

And on the bitter note of Carlin's master-minding, weariness overcame them both. They were literally nodding off where they sat. Chantal got up and gathered the dishes and plates together.

"I'm going to take these back. Turn in, the pair of you!" she ordered firmly. "Proper bed and real rest. You'll be no use for anything otherwise." And seeing potential protest in both faces, she added truthfully: "I've already had a good night's sleep. And I don't need either of you sitting guard with a shotgun!"

As she left she heard the thud of two pairs of boots hitting the floor, accompanied by a drowsy mutter from Jess about "gotta send that message to the Ranulfiar today!" She wondered with amusement which kind of message this would be? The quickest would presumably involve going to sleep.

 **# # # # #**

Long hours later Slim awoke from a much-needed and reasonably refreshing sleep. He did not open his eyes immediately, as he still felt a distinct reluctance to move, but he was instantly aware once again that he was not alone in the room. He also knew without looking that the other person was Jess – and long familiarity born of living under the same roof told him immediately something was wrong. His eyes snapped open. Years of practice at not waking others made him slide from the bedclothes, rising silently in one fluid movement to his bare feet. Then he froze.

By the light, it was late afternoon. Jess was awake. He was actually standing up. This in itself was sufficient to make Slim uneasy. When Jess decided to sleep, practically nothing could get him out of bed. Admittedly this was not the normal circumstances of early morning at the Sherman Stage Stop, but Slim was so used to having to drag or drive Jess to get up that he felt for a moment that he must be still dreaming.

Jess was wide awake. He was standing by the window. Standing absolutely still. He had a piece of paper in his hand.

"Poco tonto, así es como eres!" Slim heard him murmur as his hand clenched on the paper. "This is just like you, Tal, you little idiot!"

The next moment he turned, sensing Slim's movement, and met his friend's eyes. Shock coursed through Slim. He'd seen such a look in Jess's eyes before: not often, but on those occasions when some danger had threatened the people he loved most of all. Certainly Andy had merited that look - and Jess's sister, Francie – not to mention Mike, particularly after the attempted kidnapping, and, had he known it, Slim himself. Now, for a split second, Jess's feelings were utterly clear.

Then he suddenly laughed and handed the paper to Slim, saying: "If I don't murder that woman some day it'll be God's own blessed miracle!"

"What?" Slim was still trying to process the situation and Jess's reactions. He took the paper but went on staring at his partner. A series of emotions chased across Jess's face – anger, amusement, pride – but his brows drew together in his fiercest frown and he said simply: "You've got the letter. Read it!"

Slim made himself focus on the paper. It was indeed a letter, in slanting French handwriting. He looked up at Jess again. The frown was still there – and the other emotions too. "Read it!"

He read:

 _Dear Jess and Slim, when the next shipment of children passes through here today, they have to transfer the kids to smaller wagons to get up to the fort. There's a time when they're all herded into the Livery barn. No one's going to notice one more scruffy child than they originally had. Give me a day to find out what's going on and then I'll be close to the door of the prison all night. If I can't be there or you can't get me out, go ahead and free us all when the reinforcements arrive. I can wait. Chantal._

Below this, there were a few words in French: _MG Voilà les dangers que nous allons partager PT._ Slim had a feeling he had seen them somewhere before. And right at the end was something addressed to him:

 _PS – Slim, I'm trusting you to hog-tie Jess or otherwise deter him from immediate recklessness until tomorrow night!_

His jaw dropped in total amazement and it was some seconds before he was able to stutter: "S-she's going to try to join the s-shipment?"

"I presume so," Jess agreed, his voice astonishingly calm.

"She'll never pull it off. They'll find out!"

Jess looked at him with an unexpectedly reassuring smile and shook his head. "How old did you think Tal was when you first met her?"

Memory supplied the answer. "About twelve," Slim recalled.

"Me too," Jess admitted with a reminiscent grin. "Thought I was in for a long wait, but it turned out not."

Slim felt his jaw drop again at this casual revelation. On top of the shock of Chantal's actions, the sudden illumination was almost too much. Pulling himself together, he protested: "Yes, but it didn't take long to see the truth."

Jess grinned again. "It took quite a fight in Jonesy's kitchen and her smacking me across the face with that damn' plait of hair before I realised." He turned and looked at the arm-chair, which was littered with scraps of material. "My guess is she's roughed up her clothes and plaited her hair and – hey!" He registered exactly what the material was. "That's my shirt she's torn up!"

Slim looked too and nodded in agreement. "It's the one she was mending for you."

"You're kiddin'!" Jess was momentarily diverted.

"I promised I wouldn't give her away," Slim told him hastily. "So don't let on you know. Anyway, I guess she thought it was the worst shirt any of us possess!"

"Darned woman!" Jess muttered with inadvertent irony, adding under his breath, "Every time we meet, clothes always end up gettin' shredded!"

Slim affected not to hear this. There are times when the details are the devil. Instead he addressed the practical issues. "The shipment will have been made by now. It's too late to stop her."

"Stop her?" Jess sounded both incredulous and amused. "Have you ever tried to stop Chantal Picard when she sets her mind on something?"

"No," Slim admitted with a flash of insight, "but I guess it's as much use as trying to stop you when you're hell-bent on your latest act of recklessness!" He looked closely at his friend, remembering how Jess's hand had clenched on the paper when he did not know he was observed. "You ok?" Slim wanted to administer a supportive hug, but wasn't sure if it was needed or not.

"Yeah, I'm gettin' used to the shocks," Jess told him wryly. "At least life ain't ever gonna be boring!"

 _Life? … O…k ..._ Slim thought, but aloud he said: "Where did she get all this information from?"

Jess shrugged. "Same place as the food, I guess. Better not to think about it!"

"So we need to think what to do next."

A familiar priority was evident in Jess's reply. "Get something to eat," he said firmly. "An' a good strong drink! Then we need to find Samson and send that message."

His admirable intentions about bringing dinner back to the room to share with Slim were abruptly shot down the instant he closed the door behind him. As he stepped into the corridor, the door of the room opposite opened and Jess found himself face to face with the one person on this earth he had no wish to see again.

"Bud Carlin, by all that's wonderful! Didn't expect to be runnin' into you any time soon." He got all the volume he could into his surprised exclamation.

"So it's an unexpected pleasure for us both!" Carlin's genial tone was belied by the deadly look in his eyes.

"Yeah, guess you don't have much to thank me for, but I sure owe you the price of a drink. Come on!" Jess headed away from the door, behind which he profoundly hoped Slim was listening, and headed for the stairs.

"You owe me? Why?" Carlin sounded wary but amused.

"I'll tell y' when we find a bar which won't poison us both!" Jess forced himself to grin ingratiatingly. He led the way out of the hotel and down the street into the least insalubrious of the saloons. They hauled up to the bar and Jess ordered a bottle of whiskey. He figured if he was going to die, he might as well die happy. None of this showed in his face as he turned on Carlin with a countenance which combined innocence of any misdoing and reckless self-interest in equal proportions.

"Guess there ain't a jail tough enough to hold y'?" Jess poured them both a generous glass.

"No thanks to you!" Carlin retorted drily.

"Me?" Jess's expression was now one of total innocence. "I wasn't interested in gettin' you. I was after Pete Morgan. Stole $200 off me. And busted my head in! But he paid for it in the end."

"You killed Pete?" Carlin's voice was speculative. After all, he had expended considerable energy and ingenuity in getting Pete Morgan out of jail.

"Ain't no low-down sidewinder gonna slug me and take my money!"

"Pete was a fast gun." Carlin made the statement in the knowledge that he was absolutely right.

"Yeah? Well, he ain't so fancy-fast now, is he?" Jess's voice was a contemptuous sneer. Then he drew a breath and changed to a more conciliatory note: "I never intended to do more'n catch up with Pete. So I'm sorry doin' it took y' down too." The lie nearly choked him but he continued enthusiastically. "That's why I owe y'. I got half the reward money."

"And presumably your lanky blonde friend got the other half?" Carlin ran a reminiscent hand over his jaw. Slim's punches obviously still rankled.

"He got half – yeah," Jess admitted. "But friend? Y' kiddin'! You saw we were squarin' up to each other when you dropped by."

"Why?" Carlin's question was like a whip-lash or a knife thrust.

Jess positively smirked. "Because he didn't like me teachin' his little brother how to deal off the bottom of the pack, that's why! I took a fancy to the kid, stuck in a dead-beat place with no chance of freedom. So later, I lit out after the lot of y' because I didn't want to see the kid left on his own when his stupid elder brother decided to take you in and got the worst of it."

"As he certainly would have done without your help," Carlin pointed out.

"And the kid would have suffered over it," Jess shrugged. "Sometimes a kid needs a break."

"You can't afford to be sentimental in this business," Carlin sneered.

"I'm not. Later on, I figured the relay station was an easy billet for a couple of months, once I'd played along with Sherman over catchin' you. The kid would be good and ready to ride out with me when I moved on. Reckon sometimes it pays to choose y' partners young and train 'em up. That way you don't get hit over the head for y' poker winnings."

"I hear you cleaned my men out last night?" Carlin changed the subject, much to Jess's relief. He didn't sound concerned about his men and seemed to find their losses amusing. "But you didn't have the kid with you. You were with a woman. A very beautiful young woman, so they said?"

"Beautiful be damned!" Jess swore roundly and added: "Handsome is like handsome does. She's gotta knife for a tongue and her knife-hand over the purse!"

"She's paying you?" Carlin sounded faintly incredulous.

"Her father's payin' me to escort her safely to his new place in Calgary. Figured she's be safer on the train and the stage if she had a tame gun sittin' next to her."

"You're both a long way from the stage route."

"Blame the lady. She had a fancy to see more of life before her father's marries her off to some rich rancher up there. It just makes keepin' her intact a bit more of a problem," Jess scowled. "Wish I'd a job that paid less and just involved shootin' a few people!"

"So ditch the girl. There's plenty of work around here for a hired gun."

"Wouldn't I like to! But her pa's got his own ways of makin' sure I deliver her in saleable condition and if I cut loose, I'm gonna need good back-up to make sure he don't use them," Jess replied bitterly.

"But you've ditched the kid?" Carlin's sudden switch back to the Shermans was disconcerting.

"Never got started together. Turned out he had more of his self-righteous brother in him than I counted on. Once we split the bounty, we split company too. Ain't something I'm regrettin'."

"Unlike your present employment," Carlin pointed out with a grin. "Well, since you're so flush with money, you can buy me a meal to make up for two years of stinking prison slop!"

Jess wondered briefly if even his stomach was tough enough to take sitting down at table with Bud Carlin, but there was no option. "Name y' eating place!" he said.


	5. Chapter 5

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 **5**

Slim stood staring at the bedroom door. Jess's exchange with Carlin had been perfectly audible, as no doubt his partner had intended. It was imperative that Carlin did not find out Slim was in town and that Jess was now turning his hand to honest ranching in partnership with him. Such information would put paid to any hope of infiltrating the organisation and would almost certainly incite Carlin to revenge on Jess. Slim had no idea what kind of yarn Jess was spinning the gang leader, but knew him to be a very inventive liar when occasion called. This was probably fortunate under the circumstances and, if ingenuity could do it, Jess would give his best effort to keeping Carlin away from the hotel for as long as possible. Slim, meanwhile, must certainly quit the building and find their messenger without delay.

The only problem was that he knew nothing about the man except that he drove a wagon and was called Samson. Since nearly everyone who didn't arrive on horseback came in a wagon, the town's yards and few miserable streets were thronged with vehicles. As for the name, all it might possibly indicate was a tendency to avoid barbers and a penchant for loose women, of whom the town boasted several, although not nearly enough for the predominantly male population. As a means for locating someone, neither of these characteristics was particularly helpful.

Slim knew he did not have very long to formulate a plan of action. It would obviously not be a good idea to go round the town chasing up the innumerable owners of wagons or the scarce commodity of loose women, even if he had been inclined that way. To do so would be to court an encounter with Carlin, which at all costs and probably at the expense of considerable effort and risk on Jess's part, they were seeking to avoid. So what else could he deduce about the messenger?

 _He was someone who would escort a young woman safely across dangerous terrain._ Probably not one for the loose women, then. This conclusion was considerable relief to Slim.

 _He was a friend, no, more than that, a comrade of Jess's_. This was not much help as Jess's old acquaintance came in all shapes and sizes, but with a distinct leaning towards trouble in bars.

 _He was part of a covert, but apparently legal, organisation engaged in tackling major crimes across the continent_. He would therefore presumably not draw attention to himself unnecessarily: which was not going to make finding him any easier. Unfortunately the former members of this Confederate troop knew each other so well that, despite their 'raiding wolf pack' name, they would need nothing so obvious as a wolf-head sign to identify them.

 _He drove a wagon_. Now there were lots of types of wagons, but it was a safe bet that this one and its owner had some legitimate reason for moving from town to town, as a cover for their real business. It could mean he was selling goods or trading the spoils of hunting and trapping or offering some kind of service or skill which people needed. So he wasn't going to be parked in someone's yard: at least not unless there were other Ranulfiar in the town, which Slim seriously doubted. He'd be somewhere he could plie his trade. Not on the main street, but somewhere frequented by enough people to bring him custom: maybe the back of one of the saloons (not a good bet from Slim's point of view) or near the Livery? It would be too much to hope that he would be in the hotel stable-yard!

Shortly after this, Slim acted – literally. He jammed on his hat right down over his eyes, turned up the collar of his coat and let his normally upright carriage fall into a slouch. The tarnished mirror which graced the room showed him that this effected quite a transformation. He only hoped he could keep it up. There was no shortage of shifty characters trying to avoid being recognised in this town. He's have stuck out a lot more if he had assumed his normal open, confident and law-abiding method of proceeding. As it was, he shuffled out of the room via the balcony door, just in case Carlin came back to the room he had vacated. He was doing a fair imitation of one who has been at the cheapest whiskey as he descended the stairs.

Samson was not in the hotel yard. Slim slouched off to the Livery stables. There was plenty of evidence of wagons here, with several prairie-schooners lined up along the wall. Presumably the ones which had brought the children. Slim's jaw clenched in anger, but he made himself go on slouching and shuffling lazily, as if he had nothing much in mind, until he had circumnavigated the entire place. There was no sign of a trading wagon of any kind. But, with the shipment passing through, it was likely that anyone not connected with it would have been encouraged to move somewhere else. _The question was, where?_

"Hey, you!"

Slim just prevented himself from swivelling smartly and alertly towards the voice at his back. Instead he lurched round, catching hold of the corral fence to steady himself as if slightly the worse for wear. A man had come out of the Livery barn, a bridle in one hand and the other hovering meaningfully over his gun. Slim contrived to look as harmless and incurious as he could.

"Whad'ya'want? You lookin' for somethin'?" the man demanded suspiciously.

"Nope. Looking for someone. Might be around. "

"Well there ain't anyone here!" the man asserted, possibly truthfully.

"Looking for a friend," Slim persisted. "Trader. He pulled in here. Said he'd give me a lift when he moved on."

"Oh, y'mean the smith? Left town today – early."

"Bastard!" Slim allowed his assumed character language he would never normally use. "He said he'd wait. Where's he headed?"

The man shrugged. "Left by the north road. Now push off! He ain't here!"

Slim shrugged too and slouched away, thankful that the shadows of the buildings and the gathering dusk would soon conceal his movements. He made his way slowly and carefully and pseudo-drunkenly round the outskirts of the town, but, despite numerous cautious and discreet questions, nowhere could he find a trace of a trading wagon owned by a man called Samson. If he had been prone to despair, he would have been in the depths of it by the time he had shuffled his way back to the hotel stables. As it was, his back and neck ached abominably from his unaccustomed posture and his head was thumping with tension and frustration, but his determination was as strong as ever. He just needed to think round the problem more – and catch some more sleep, because the whole of this investigation seemed to be taking place during the night!

Despite his fervent desire to collapse into a comfortable bed, it was going to be really bad policy to return to the hotel room with Carlin potentially as a neighbour. He decided to risk bedding down in Alamo's stall. There was also some chance of Jess being able to locate him there.

In this, he was entirely correct. So correct that he actually fell over Jess in the darkness of the stall, where he was curled up, fast asleep, against a pile of hay in the corner. Alamo shifted irritably. He was a good-mannered horse, but he disliked being kept from his food by his humans. Now both his owner and the other one were sprawling over most of his bedding and muttering fiercely at each other in a most upsetting way. Alamo, like Slim, preferred life to be reasonably civilised. He snorted and backed away against the partition as far as he could.

When they'd finished hissing "What the heck are you doing here?" and "Don't ever shock me like that again!" at each other, they progressed to muttering: "been waitin' so long, no wonder I fell asleep" and "if anyone's going to bed down here, it's my horse's stall!" and other such irritated assertions. Eventually, however, relief got the better of them and, as so often, they broke down into muffled laughter as the funny side of the situation struck them.

Jess was not surprised Slim had been unable to find Samson. "Guessed he might move out of town. Too many of Carlin's men about now."

"Yeah, I figured I'd better stay out of sight. I can try tracking him tomorrow."

This brought a slightly derisive chuckle from Jess. "Y'gonna track one of the Ranulfiar?"

"He's a trader. He can't just disappear off the map."

"Y'wanna bet?" Jess yawned. "Look, we'll both go after him before dawn an' I'll show you where to look. Even if someone sees us leavin', they ain't gonna see enough to know who we are." He gave another mighty yawn. "I'm turnin' in."

"And you're getting up before dawn?" Slim sounded understandably sceptical.

"Trust me."

"I do. I just know what you're like about getting up in daylight, never mind before dawn!"

"Trust me! I'll be here before daybreak," Jess said again. And on that note, they parted for the few remaining hours of rest.

 **# # # # #**

The beginning of a new day was heralded by the harsh grating of the prison door being unbarred. It seemed that light flooded into the gloom of the interior, even though the sun had not risen and dawn was an hour away. Around her, a silent flood of small bodies swept Chantal towards the opening and the black figures of the guards standing bleakly against the lighter background of the courtyard. The air was filled with the soft patter of little feet, sobbing breaths and subdued cries. As if they were one person, the crowd of children turned towards the locked gate between the two buildings. It was no longer locked, but flung open on a descent into black depths. Flaring torches lighted the way down the narrow, rocky path. Down and down the crowd plunged, gradually thinning as children turned off the main path on to tiny ledges clinging to the sides of the canyon. Down and down - to the lowest levels - to the oily sump of blue clay - to a battered trowel thrust into her hand. The day's labour had begun.

 **# # # # #**

"Wake up! There's work to be done!"

This greeting of the new day was redolent with irony. Slim had so often shaken Jess out of his slumbers with much the same words. Now it was his turn.

Alamo and Traveller were already saddled and all he had to do was to slake his thirst from the canteen and mount up. They rode out of the town as quietly as they could, keeping all the while to the shadows at the edge of the street until the buildings fell away and they were in open country. The road rolled on before them, cross-hatched with wagon tracks, impossible to separate into individual trails. It simply led into an endless nowhere.

They might not seem to be going anywhere, but Slim had come to respect the skills and resources of the covert group of retired raiders. No doubt they would find Samson, provided he wanted them to. He became aware, as they rode gently along, that Jess was tracking – not obviously, but he seemed to be keeping a very close eye on the left-hand side of the trail. They'd ridden perhaps five or six miles when Jess halted Traveller and jumped down to kneel and examine something almost concealed in the grassy fringe edging the road.

Slim got down too. He was hampered by the continuing pre-dawn twilight, but could not make out anything special. Close by Jess's boots were a few scattered stones, some twigs and a couple of leaves: nothing more than the wind-driven debris which you would expect on any highway. At least, nothing more until Slim realised it was a long time since they'd passed a tree.

As he came to this conclusion, Jess remounted with a satisfied grin. "Ok, here's what you do," he instructed. "Ride on for another mile and a half. You'll see signs of a herd crossing the trail – maybe steers, maybe pronghorn or elk, it doesn't matter. Follow the herd west until you see trees. Go to the trees, even if the herd tracks veer off. You'll find Samson and the wagon somewhere close by."

Slim nodded, not entirely convinced that Jess was not just making it up, but willing to give anything a try. His partner obviously sensed this, because he jerked his chin in the direction of the patch of ground he had been examining and explained briefly: "Trail-sign." Secret trail-sign, of the kind often used by the tribes, it appeared.

Jess turned Traveller as if it had been agreed that they would separate here. Alamo snorted, not wanting to part from his stable companion. Slim felt much the same.

"Just a minute, where are you off to?"

"You can manage the next bit yourself," was the cheeky answer, implying as it did that Slim was no good at tracking, instead of acknowledging that he had been deferring to Jess's expertise and extra familiarity with their quarry.

"Yeah, fine – but what are you up to?"

"I'm gonna make sure I'm seen innocently in town. Carlin's busy with something today, he said, and we both know what that means!" His breath hitched for just a second, but he went on calmly, "He knows I'm around now, so I ain't takin' any risks."

"That'll be a first, then," Slim pointed out perfectly truthfully. "Or were you planning to sleep the day away?"

"Could do with it," Jess admitted, "and at least I'd have _my_ room to myself for once!"

Slim looked at him hard. Neither of them brought up why the room was empty. Under the circumstances, he reflected, there seemed little likelihood of Jess sleeping peacefully – but you never knew. His own concern was evidently palpable, since Jess returned the hard look and said: "What's up with you? Come on, spit it out!"

Caught unawares, Slim blurted out his deepest fear before he could consider its effect on his hearer: "Jess, you know what will happen if they find out she's not a kid!"

Jess went quite still for a moment. Then he replied coolly: "Yeah. We discussed that."

"You did? You didn't have time!"

"It was a while ago," Jess told him casually. His right hand dropped and quickly touched the gun-fighter's slick weapon, which he had reinstated for this investigation. "I've got a rep – you know that. It ain't gonna go away just because I stick this in the hiding place and say 'I'm retired, I'm just a rancher now'. You know who's come after me in the past and there's no tellin' who will in the future ..." He stopped abruptly and seemed to be considering deeply how to explain himself. "There's those who won't stop at hurtin' someone because they matter to me. Now you an' I, between us, can defend Andy and Mike – and Jonesy if need be – "

He was interrupted by a splutter of surprised laughter from Slim, who was imagining Jonesy's reaction to the mere idea Jess would actually admit to the deep affection they held for each other. Hastily, he pulled himself together and said encouragingly: "So?"

Jess gave him a quizzical look and went on: "I don't need motherin' and housekeepin' and all that domesticated stuff." Slim was tempted to call him on this one, since Jess took shameless advantage of all such responses from susceptible females of any age. But he kept quiet as Jess continued: "Not for the long trail, anyway. Nor the kind of woman who needs lookin' after all the time. I can't guarantee to do that or afford be distracted by worryin' about her safety if it comes to a fight – that would turn her into a weapon to use against me. It's got to be someone be strong enough to fend for themselves and not be afraid, except when it makes sense to be."

"Like Troy?" Slim suggested, rather wickedly, considering how relations had worked out between the three of them.

This brought a derisive snort from Jess and the further comment: "Someone loyal, who ain't gonna sell you out when things get tough!" He stopped again, struggling for the words to share what it was not easy to express. "Someone who'll work all day next you, walk through the desert beside you and stand face to face when you can't agree. Someone who'll travel the trail with open eyes … and take the risk and face the fight … and be willing to share the danger and the outcome equally …"

His voice faded into silence. He was not looking at Slim. His gaze was fixed on the distant town and the shadowy fort beyond it. At length, he drew himself back to where they were and to the conversation: "So quit worryin', will you? You'll wear y'self out, doin' enough for all three of us!" This was somewhat unfair, since he knew perfectly well that worry was a sure sign Slim was caring about someone, for which Jess was inwardly very grateful. Nonetheless, he finished up pragmatically: "And frettin' about it ain't gonna make a deal of difference now."

"Just as long as you don't jump into something rash trying to make a difference yourself!" Slim told him lightly. "Didn't I get some instructions about hog-tying you today? Seems like a good idea."

"Yeah? Well, keep the good ideas to y'self till you've got reinforcements!" Jess retorted. "I ain't lookin' for trouble! But if we're not back in the hotel by dawn, you'll know where to find us." He gave Slim a long, trusting look. "I know you won't let us down!"

And with that, he urged Traveller straight into a gallop and disappeared in the direction of the town in a cloud of dust.


	6. Chapter 6

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 **6**

Slim sat still on Alamo until he could no longer see the flying horseman in the pale light of the dawn. He felt rather as if a jolt of lightning had gone through him. He had been trusted with a lot more than a potential rescue. Of course, he'd realised that Jess habitually concealed deep feelings, as he had done over Ann Rhodes, but he had interpreted the wrangling with Chantal as nothing more serious than the kind of brotherly battle Jess had waged with Troy. He turned his horse and rode onward, deep in thought.

So deep in thought was he that he nearly missed the broad slot of steers' hooves cutting up the surface of the road and was only alerted to it by the slight stumble in Alamo's pace. The light was improving by the minute and the trampled grass and gouged up earth were easy to see once he'd left the road itself. Sure enough, when he had followed the slot for about another mile, he could make out trees on the horizon, a little to the north. He veered off the trail of the herd, which he could see grazing quietly not far in front of him, and headed directly for the wood. And sure enough again, he could just make out, here and there, faint wagon tracks, although he had no means of telling how old they were.

The trees proved to be a long spur of woodland, the outrider of the heavily forested mountain slopes. He made for the northern edge, figuring Samson was likely to camp on the far side from the town and hoping that he wasn't going to have to search for the wagon on the steep slopes of the real forest. Finding it was not going to be easy if it was as well hidden as he would expect from a member of the Ranulfiar.

Consequently he rode slowly and very quietly along the skirts of the wood, peering between the dark trunks for a more substantial shadow. It was not long before something loomed up, but it looked like an outcrop of rocks around which the wood had grown. _Just the place to hide a wagon_. Slim dismounted and led Alamo into the trees, dropping the reins so that he would not stray. He began to approach the rocks cautiously.

He had made only a few paces towards them when the quiet of the early morning shook with a low and ferocious growl. He sensed a creature moving to the left of him, but the growl came again, directly in front of him. Slim had no idea what was making the noise, for it was still very dark under the trees – it could be a cougar or a wolf or just possibly a very unfriendly guard dog. He wisely stood still.

Behind him there came the click of a rifle bolt and he felt the nudge of the barrel in his back. He stepped forward, hoping that the dog – if it was a dog – was not going to take a bite out of his leg. The rifle prodded him, directing him to walk round the outlying boulders until, behind the huge central pile, he came up to tethered horses, a banked-down campfire and the wagon itself. He heaved a sigh of relief.

The man holding the rifle did not speak a word until he had struck a match and regarded Slim by its flickering light.

"You must be Sherman."

Slim took his hat off and held out his hand. The man looked him up and down, as if verifying his appearance. Having done so, he propped his rifle against the wagon wheel and issued a brief command: "Stand down!"

It was so familiar that Slim almost reacted automatically, until he realised it was addressed to two huge, shaggy grey dogs, who resembled nothing so much as a couple of wolves. The pair dropped into a crouch at the other side of the camp-fire. Their gleaming eyes never left Slim.

"Don't mind them." The man took Slim's outstretched hand in a bone-crushing grip which mercifully did not last long. He kicked the fire into life and set a coffee pot on the stones around it.

"How did you know me?"

The man, Samson as he must be, gave a guttural laugh. "Description went round that time the Wolf-cub was after getting you out of a tumbleweed wagon."

Slim nodded, vivid memories coming back abruptly – but not of that time. No, it was the casual nick-name, the designation of Jess as the youngest member of the pack, which struck deep. He looked carefully at this man, who had been through so much with his partner.

He saw a man of middle height, shorter than Jess, but immensely powerfully built. Just the muscles of his arms and shoulders made Slim glad his handshake had not been prolonged. He was older than Slim had expected, although there was no reason to suppose that the troop had been made up solely of young hot-heads. The shrewd eyes watching him closely were bright brown under shaggy brows. The man's hair was shaved close and he seemed to be wearing a leather apron and pants and nothing much else. From the equipment around the wagon, it was obvious that he was a smith.

Samson was handing him coffee and Slim hastily dragged his attention back to the business, rather than the man. He sipped the strong brew cautiously, making a mental note that Jess was not the only one who liked coffee which could take the enamel off the inside of a mug.

His host waved a hand to a nearby barrel by way of offering Slim a seat. When he sat down, Samson went to the back of the wagon and rummaged for some minutes, before returning with a thin sheet of deerskin and an ink pen.

"Give me the details," he commanded without further ado.

"You want me to write them?" Slim offered.

Samson raised an eyebrow and said shortly: "Not unless you can write in code?"

"Not your code," Slim agreed and set about giving the clear account of the fort which he had set in his mind. Samson's pen travelled over the vellum in a circular pattern, transcribing minute marks and pictograms as Slim spoke. When it was finished, he whistled softly and one of the great hounds came obediently to his side. Samson loosened the collar it was wearing, turned it inside out and fed the deerskin document into the space between the two layers of leather. This done, he fastened the collar and took the dog's head between his hands.

He breathed gently on it, with it, for a few moments, then whispered: "Keilder! Find!"

The dog instantly bounded away, its coat blending seamlessly with the shadows of tree and grass. It was gone before Slim could draw breath. Samson gave the fire another kick and tossed on some more wood. "Let's have breakfast."

He sent the other dog into the wood to keep guard and Slim to get water from the nearby spring for fresh coffee. Soon the savoury smell of bacon hash was filling the clear, cold morning air and Slim realised how hungry he was. They ate in silence, companionably and with a speed which would have done justice to Jess.

Samson said as much, when he had dumped their dirty plates in a bucket of water warming over the fire and poured them some fresh coffee. "Guess we're lucky we haven't got the young wolf eating twice enough for his size," he remarked with a grin.

Slim nodded, being used to having to make sure that he got his fair share of whatever was going. "Was he starved when he was young?"

"We all starved." Samson's eyes were dark with recollected suffering and Slim reminded himself that they had been on different sides. "But, yes, it was always worse for the youngsters, none more so than Jess. He'd been fending for himself for three years before they dumped him in the troop."

"Dumped?"

Samson grinned again. "Didn't Vin tell you? Everyone else had totally failed to instill any discipline into him, so they figured he might just be suitable material for the wildest and least conventional company."

Slim remembered Warwick's casual words about being ordered to thrash Jess. "He did mention it."

The older man laughed. "Good job Cal was our sergeant. At least, he had strong ties with Jess." But his face became serious as he continued: "And he understood what the boy had been through. It was a dark time all round."

"Yeah. Stupid too, in many ways," Slim agreed. "But now there's other things just as dark."

"Things we can do something about without killing so many men!" Samson peered at Slim's expression and demanded: "What's the matter? Has he done something wild again?"

"Not Jess. The girl."

Samson whistled and said shrewdly: "I reckoned she had a tougher spirit than you'd look to see in any soft girl from the east. She'll need it around Jess, too."

"Yeah." Slim's tone was miserable. He felt that somehow he should have prevented the whole mad scheme, not least because the investigation was his responsibility.

"So what's she done?"

Slim told him. When he had finished, Samson shook his head. "Risky!"

"Yeah. They seem to like taking risks."

"Make a good pair, then," the other man said sagely. "There's never been a time when Jess didn't jump straight in without looking at the depth of the water. But you'll know that, being his partner."

Slim nodded. Much shared experience had enabled him to cope with Jess's recklessness. He just felt a fearful responsibility for a girl he had only met a few times.

Samson seemed to sense this. "She's not stupid," he pointed out. "And if Jess's taken her training in hand, she's not helpless. And you'll do what you can, when you can, and avoid the risk of alerting Carlin. Now, make yourself comfortable. You've got a long wait if you can't go back before nightfall."

In the event, Slim did not even start back for the town until far into the night. The dog had done its work well and with dusk the man named Keilder slipped through the trees and joined them round the fire. He was followed by another couple of the Ranulfiar, whom Keilder had alerted, and all were eager to hear and commit to memory Slim's account of the place they had to attack. Talk ran over beyond supper and so it was into the small hours when Slim finally arrived back at the hotel, climbed to the balcony and eased open the door of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

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 **7**

At midnight, the great bar across the prison door slid silently out of its sockets. The door began to open, but before it seemed possible for a human being to get through the gap, a small, ragged figure had squeezed out. The prisoner was immediately seized in a bone-crushing, breath-taking hug. Then the door was eased to and the bar was just as silently returned.

Coming out of the utter darkness of the prison, the enclosure seemed as bright as day, despite the heavy cloud cover. Chantal could not believe they could remain concealed, even though she was summarily man-handled into the shadows at the side of the building. A hard hand clamped over her mouth – as if she would dream of uttering a sound! She was tempted to kick him and remind him she was trustworthy, but desisted in deference to their mutual safety.

They remained crouched in the shadows for some minutes. The guards were still exchanging casual banter at the other end of the stockade, close to the main gate, but Jess's iron grip kept them both still. Chantal was beginning to wonder if she would lose all feeling in her arms when at last she sensed him relax very slightly. Footsteps thudded on the far ladder at the opposite end of the enclosure. The men now on guard moved round to the top of the gate, seeming to ignore the side of the stockade which stood above the cliff face. It rapidly became apparent that there was a reason for this.

"Them kids ain't goin' nowhere!" a voice asserted across the open space.

"Get that ladder, Rawlinson! We ain't takin' any chances – Carlin says so!"

"He would!" someone grumbled nearby. Then, to their joint consternation, the ladder by the prison building was lifted away from the platform and carried over to lie against the side of one of the sheds. There it stood in the fitful moonlight, taunting them with the escape it had promised. They had zero chance of retrieving it. It might just as well have been on the moon for all the use it was now.

If possible, Jess became even more still as he thought furiously. Chantal made herself mimic his total concentration and immobility, as if she could absorb the requisite physical responses just from being crouched so close to him in the darkness. Discussion was impossible. She knew that she would have to read what Jess wanted from his actions and follow his lead implicitly. It was not the first time they'd been caught in a situation like this and she had a simple but absolute trust in their ability to come out of it together.

Some minutes elapsed before the guards who had been relieved disappeared into their quarters and those on watch settled down to a predictable routine. Not that any routine could be relied on: Jess knew full well how stupid it was to make assumptions about anything they might or might not do. Nonetheless, they somehow had to climb to the platform and, from there, get down the rope without being spotted. This was easy enough for one person, but much more risky for two.

Presently Chantal felt a slight pressure on her arm, on the side furthest from where the ladder had been. Jess moved like a shadow towards the hidden gate between the two buildings and she followed, ghosting his every move. From the other building, which seemed to be a house, there came a burst of laughter and the sound of stamping feet, as if some kind of a party was in progress. At least it covered any sound they might make – but they strove, all the same, to make none.

When they reached the locked gate, Chantal realised what Jess intended. The gate was roughly hewn and made of sawn planks overlapping each other in a manner which gave a perilous finger and foot hold to the climber. Climb they did!

Reaching the lintel at the top of the gate, they were able to stand easily on the thick beam. Jess could just reach the parapet and pull himself bodily up onto the roof of the prison. Once there, an outstretched arm enabled Chantal to scramble up after him. They lay prone on the roof, which was fortunately flat. Jess proceeded to worm his way across on his stomach, having first slid out of his gun-belt and draped it around his neck so that it did not catch or clink on the rough surface of the roof. Moving flat out and face down was not something Chantal had ever done before, but she guessed that it was important not to look up because a face would catch any source of light much more conspicuously than their dark clothing. She had no idea how painful such means of progress would be, but, if Jess could do it, she was not going to do any less than he did.

On the other side of the prison roof, they encountered a further obstacle which had not been there when Jess scaled the stockade - a guard on the walkway who had obviously been posted with an over-view of the prison. He was directly between them and the rope they needed to escape. Jess's hand pressed Chantal even further into the surface of the roof and nudged her round until she was lying in the shadow of the parapet. She quietened her breathing to the merest whisper: she was within a couple of feet of the guard. As he turned away to patrol a little distance along the platform, Jess vanished swiftly and silently, back the way they had come.

The interval which followed seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. What Jess was doing, back down in the courtyard, she had no idea and she dared not shift to try to get a glimpse. Besides, he was moving with an uncanny affinity for his surroundings, so much so that when he did suddenly re-join her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Between his teeth he was carrying a short piece of firewood, a supple, rounded tree-branch, not much thicker than his thumb.

Jess remained still, quietening his breathing after the exertion of a double climb, and listening carefully to the repetitive footsteps of the guard. The man walked away from them for about ten paces, paused for a few seconds, then turned and came back. He did this with sufficiently regularity to suggest he was not going to vary his methods very much. This was what Jess had been hoping.

The guard walked back to the point at which the walkway joined the prison roof, immediately above where they lay concealed. As he turned, Jess surged up and thrust the branch beneath the man's feet, which promptly went from under him. His descent was helped by a yank as Jess caught his gun-belt from behind and pulled him backwards so his head struck sharply against the edge of the parapet. He went down without a sound. With luck, when he came to, he would simply assume that he had lost his footing because the branch rolled under his boots.

Jess seized Chantal's hand, but she was already on her feet, jumping light as a cat onto the walkway and crouching below the level of the stockade. It was only a few paces to where the rope was tied. He hauled it up, fastened the loose end round her waist and looped the slack so that it would give her a foothold. There was no time to protest that climbing ropes was another of her accomplishments. The next she knew, she was over the edge and being lowered gently and steadily down in to the trees.

When she reached the ground, fortunately without hitting too many branches on the way, Chantal loosed the rope and gave it a sharp tug. Instantly it began to sway and swing as a heavy body slid rapidly down it. Jess was not so lucky and once more had some painful encounters with various arboreal obstructions.

"Maton!" Chantal hissed at him. "I can climb a rope better than you can!"

"PT, now is not the time to be tellin' me that!" Jess paused only to buckle on his gun-belt and lick the blood off some of the new scratches on his arms, before leading the way down to where Traveller was patiently waiting for them.

It was not until Jess had hopped into the saddle and stretched out an arm to pull her up in front of him that the full force of the shock of being freed hit Chantal. A sudden violent shiver ran through her and her breath caught with long-suppressed horror. But, as before on the very first occasion Jess had rescued her, she was securely held by strong arms clamping her to the hard-muscled body against which she was resting. And just as it had done before, his husky growl affirmed: "Estás sano y salvo!"

Nonetheless, she continued to shake with reaction as he urged Traveller in a soundless and rapid descent of the mountain. Presently they came out of the trees on to a track and Jess slowed the pace somewhat now that there was a reasonable distance between them and their enemies. The heavy cloud, which had been so useful in enabling access to the fort, was breaking up and here and there bright stars were beginning to show through the ragged banners.

Jess seemed to understand her reaction, because his hand tipped her chin so that she looked upwards, away from the blackness which had surrounded them.

"Cuente las estrellas, espiritu valiente. Every one of those stars is a child you're gonna bring out of darkness."

 **# # # # #**

It would be romantic to record that Chantal's first words on regaining the safety of their hotel room were of fervent thanks for the gallantry of her rescuer. Instead, the moment her feet hit the floor – Jess having summarily carried her up the back stairs, despite her protests – she swung round on him as fiercely as usual and demanded: "Why didn't you let me slide down the rope? I'm perfectly capable!"

Jess fended off the flying blow she aimed at him with what was becoming the ease of much practice. "Because you ain't wearin' gloves. Your hands'd be covered in rope-burns."

Chantal made a choked noise, between a sob and a laugh. She collapsed onto the end of the bed, her head bowed in her hands. There was a swift, silent movement as Jess knelt down and took both her hands in his.

"Show me."

Slowly Chantal unfolded her hands. The palms were blistered, cut and raw, and seemed to be stained with something blue. Her eyes were still squeezed tight against impending tears and so she did not see the flash of horrified comprehension cross Jess's face. It was not just the injuries: it was also that he was pretty sure what had caused them. But he said nothing. Just gave both hands a thorough examination and got to his feet.

Chantal heard water splashing in the wash-bowl, then it was placed on her knees and her hands were lifted again and lowered into the blessed coolness. A sob hiccuped in her throat. After that they were silent while the water did its work. Jess knelt by her side and never moved until she was ready to withdraw her hands.

He picked up the bowl and asked: "Comfrey?"

"In my bag." She opened her eyes and watched him retrieve the little silver flask he had given her at Christmas. He stood with it in his hands, running his finger over the engraved words: _Pour les dangers que nous allons partager_. Some powerful emotion flicked very briefly through his eyes, but again he said nothing. Presently her raw palms were gently toweled dry and soothed by the cool ointment. The smell brought back memories of the first time she'd been made to use it. Memories which made her smile, even though she was still in pain.

Jess, meanwhile, had picked up the remaining strips of his shirt and was carefully bandaging her hands. When he'd finished, he looked up from where he knelt and said with a chuckle: "At least you can't blame this lot of ruined clothes on me!"

"Maybe you'll buy a decent shirt for once?" Chantal retorted.

"As long as it ain't white," he conceded, much to her surprise, until he went on to explain: "We'll both need something fancy – Bud Carlin's invited us to dine with him today!" An afterthought struck him and he added: "I hope you've got decorative gloves – you'll need them."

Gloves were the last thing on Chantal's mind, despite her hands. "Dinner? Smart dress? I need a bath! Now!"

"Yeah, you don't smell too good – and what the hell have y' done to your hair?"

She'd been waiting for that one, knowing full well how much Jess hated the plaits. It was a surprise too that he hadn't thrown a fit at the change in colour before now. "It's mud," she hastened to stave off his wrath, "it'll wash out if I can just get to the bath-house."

"Stop panicking, it's all arranged," Jess told her.

"Any woman would panic," she snapped coldly. "Especially if you want me to make an impression on Carlin."

"I don't want you anywhere near him," Jess replied truthfully. "But we ain't got much option, not if I'm goin' to keep on the right side of him. Now stay put, valiente, while I fix your bath."

Chantal was swaying as she sat by the time Jess had roused the hotel clerk and driven him into bringing up a hip-bath and sufficient water, which he had had the forethought to order and pay for in advance. As it was, she just managed to slip behind the screen in the corner as the door opened and the room filled with steam in short order. When the sound of splashing buckets finally ceased and was followed by the key turning in the lock, she figured it was safe to emerge. The bath was close in front of the fireplace, where a good blaze had been stirred up. Jess was sitting in the armchair.

She raised her eyebrows and was met with Jess's most intimidating and immovable expression. It was almost an action-replay of their first encounter in the kitchen of the relay station.

"You can wait outside! OUT!" She grabbed his arm, despite the pain in her hand, as she attempted to pull him out of the chair, but, once again, it was like trying to shift a slender statue of solid steel. Her efforts had not the slightest effect except to earn another of those formidable frowns.

"For heaven's sake, woman!" he snapped irritably. "You've been swimming in your underwear with me and I seem to remember a bath in a hot spring too?"

"That was different."

"It was necessary," Jess amended, sounding marginally more reasonable. "And so's this. With those hands, how else d'you think you're gonna get the mud out of your hair?"

It was some time afterwards, propriety having been negotiated and observed, that all the mud was washed away and Chantal sat on the rug in front of the fire, her hair billowing about her in a silver cloud as it dried. Jess had pushed the bath into a corner before strolling over to the balcony window. There he peacefully rolled and lit a cigarette and began to smoke calmly, just as she had seen him on that first night, as if there was no danger and no horror which could touch them.

The sight was an unexpected trigger. Chantal was taken by surprise as another wave of shocked reaction swept through her. Suddenly she was shuddering and sick with fear and revulsion at the discoveries she had made and what she had been through to make them.

"C'm here!" In another of his instant, soundless moves, Jess tossed the cigarette into the fire and dropped down beside her, folding her in a warm embrace.

"It's all right, I'm not lettin' you go," he murmured comfortingly, and then promptly ruined the romantic effect by adding mischievously: " 'cos if I do, the good Lord alone knows what you'll get up to next!"

Chantal gave a token mutter of protest, but she was still wracked by the horror of the whole experience and knew that she had to accept this moment of her own undeniable weakness. There would be times when Jess would be the one needing support, but now she had to trust and lean on the strength he offered her. Being brave was no longer imperative and she buried herself in the arms holding her so securely: she had someone to whom she could and did cling, more solid than any rock. She was not a girl who fainted under duress, but before long her eyelids drooped and she was frankly asleep on Jess's shoulder.

It took a lot of careful maneuvering for Jess to get to his feet with Chantal in his arms and deposit her gently on the bed. He pulled the quilt up over her and stood looking down thoughtfully. Slim would have been surprised at the expression on his face, but that was nothing unusual. After several moments' contemplation he sighed, flopped into the armchair and lit up another cigarette. For a while he could actually relax, his feet stretched out to the fire and his eyes half-closed as he continued to smoke thankfully.


	8. Chapter 8

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 **8**

When Slim tapped out the agreed signal and edged silently through the balcony door, everything looked comfortable and serene. Notwithstanding, he needed reassurance after twenty four long hours of worry. He went immediately to the bed and bend over the sleeping girl, laying his hand very softly on her silver and gold hair.

He looked over his shoulder at the man in the chair. "Is she ok?"

Jess nodded. "Shocked and tired and a bit battered, but yeah – she's ok."

Their eyes met in relief, but also with the understanding of what Chantal's initiative had put Jess through. Slim moved instinctively from the bed to the chair and bent again to put an arm round his friend's shoulders. "You too?"

Jess looked up and his eyes were glinting. "Ye-ah!" The word was scarcely breathed. Then his eyes narrowed in a mixture of pride and retribution: "But there's still gonna be hell to pay later!"

"What did she find out?"

Jess shrugged. "Ain't asked yet. Figured goin' through it once, to both of us, would cost enough."

Slim nodded understandingly. "I found Samson all right. He sent a message."

His dubious tone produced a laugh from Jess. "Pigeon or dog?"

"Dog. At least it was less likely get eaten on the way!"

"It'll find Keilder, no sweat, and he'll get word to the others," Jess reassured him.

"It already did," Slim told him and described how reinforcements had begun to assemble.

A look of satisfaction crossed Jess's face and he said: "Good! It helps to know we ain't on our own. If things go wrong, you can all come and rescue us." A teasing tone belied the seriousness of this prediction, but Slim was not fooled.

"Why? What are you two up to now!" He had no illusions about the combined Harper and Picard penchant for recklessness.

"Carlin wants me and the lady who's payin' me to eat with him today," Jess explained. "Guess I overplayed the cover story and he thinks I want him to take me on. There's no chance of gettin' out of it, so we need to make sure you have all the details of what's goin' on, as soon as Tal's ready to talk."

"I'm ready!" The voice behind them made them both jump. Chantal flicked the quilt away and got up from the bed. She looked a bit wobbly but glared at Jess in defiance of any suggestion that she might need assistance.

"Sit down!" Jess's voice cracked out commandingly and, the next thing she knew, she was sitting in the armchair he had vacated. Slim perched on the end of the bed and Jess leaned ominously on the mantle-shelf. Chantal had vivid recollections of the last time he had done that, when her father had come to collect her from the relay station. The resemblance to a thundercloud about to strike was only partially counterbalanced by all they had shared since. She pushed all these considerations aside as she marshalled her thoughts to convey the information she had gathered in the clearest way possible.

"The gate opens on to a path – almost a narrow stairway – leading into a huge canyon. As far as I could see, there is no other means of getting in and out. The canyon is circular and very deep. It's like going down into the mouth of hell! There are very small ledges, like goat-tracks, along the sides and it's riddled with clefts and openings. For adults, the access is very difficult. Children are more agile and less likely to break up the paths and small enough to get into the fissures. It's a natural mine – a diamond mine! The children are the miners. They work all day, digging and bringing up and sifting the soil. The labour is terrible – you can't imagine the horror of forcing yourself into the cracks – the heat – the cramps – the weight of the clay – the danger of falling. At the end, if they don't produced some diamonds, they get nothing to eat. If after a couple of days' starvation, they still haven't produced any, their water is cut off too. It's torture, pure and simple, but it's very clever. It spurs them on to work and it stops them hiding any diamonds, because not handing over diamonds means death! At night, they are herded back into the prison building that Slim found."

"How many?" Jess's voice was fierce and urgent.

"Difficult to tell. I think, perhaps, sixty, maybe more. I couldn't count in the dark. Work starts at dawn and ends at dusk. Everyone is driven in and out of the mine in a crowd. Some are so small, they get lost among the bigger ones, crushed and trampled sometimes too! It's hideous ... all so helpless …" Her voice faltered, but she drew a deep breath and continued firmly: "No-one is restrained at night. The guards aren't afraid of children. So, if you can get the door open, they'll be only to ready to escape, but I'm afraid many of them'll be too weak and exhausted to get far."

"I can imagine," Slim agreed softly. He thought for a moment. "They might be eager, but in darkness and confusion, we might lose a lot of them too, so just opening the door isn't going to be enough."

"Can they take shelter in the mine itself?" Jess asked.

Chantal shook her head. "It would work if the guards were not herding them up to the fort, but there's no chance of freeing as they're brought up from the mine," she assured them. "The guards are behind and in front, and you couldn't take out enough of them to allow the children to retreat into the canyon."

"And we can't just release them into the fort and hope they'll make it out of the main gate," Jess pointed out thoughtfully. "We need to over-run the fort after the kids have been put back into prison. They'll be safe enough there. But we have to take out Carlin and his men before we can hope to set them free."

"So we know how the rescue has to be shaped," Slim said. "We know the constraints, and we know enough to advise the Ranulfiar how to raid. And Carlin won't be able to argue his way out of it because we have a witness." He smiled at Chantal and told her: "Well done!"

Chantal ducked her head in a manner which was so reminiscent of Jess, when he was trying to avoid showing strong emotion, that it almost made Slim blink. Seconds later, he was wishing he could also vanish in the blink of any eye – because Jess and Chantal plunged into one of their stormy exchanges during which neither of them appeared to have the faintest concern that they were being overheard.

"Good. Now all we have to do is make sure Carlin ain't suspicious and we both get out of his company alive – again!" Jess reminded them. He stopped leaning on the mantelpiece and stood looming over the armchair instead. The thundercloud was clearly laced with potential lightning and, as he had threatened, there was hell to pay. Chantal looked up at him, mastering her apprehension and disguising it fairly successfully in an innocent expression.

"Again!" he repeated, in the tone she knew full well. Sure enough, his next words were: "You've got some serious listenin' to do!"

Now would be a good time to produce a little feminine meekness, but unfortunately there was no such thing in Chantal's make-up, at least not without strenuous acting. Completely disregarding Jess's contribution to her escape, she scowled defiantly and snapped back: "I did get out alive!"

"It's how y' sneaked _in_ that's serious!" Jess told her, his voice a hair's-breadth from a snarl. Their eyes locked with all the challenge of two drawn knife-blades.

"I didn't just go," she protested vehemently. "I told you what –"

Jess cut her off short. "We don't do this stuff in writing – _ever_!" The raw emotion in his voice was a mixture of determination, exasperation and passionate hurt. "The only writing between us is this!" He grabbed the little flask of comfrey from the mantel-piece and brandished it under Chantal's nose. To Slim's surprise, she actually blushed. "Now," Jess drew a deep breath, ratcheted his growl up a couple of notches so that he did not sound quite so intimidating, and continued: "Did you leave that letter because you believe I'd try to argue you out of it?"

Chantal nodded, the corner of her mouth quivering a little on the edge of a smile. "Gamberro!"

"Yeah? And you do what I say? Siempre?"

Chantal shook her head, the smile gaining confidence. "Generalmente!"

Jess gave a totally unexpected snort of amusement and disposed swiftly of her assertion to any _usual_ level of obedience. "I ain't holdin' my breath. But I am waitin' to know _why_ you think I'd succeed in stoppin' you?"

"Because you have the –" Chantal stopped abruptly and another blush stole across her face as she glanced nervously at Slim.

"I'm waitin'!" Jess could be really persistent too.

"Because that's what men –" Another pause. "What women are supposed to –"

Jess raised an eyebrow and cut her short, softly and relentlessly: "Senorita Picard, nunca te comportas como se esperaba! You never do anything because other people do!" Then, even more softly, "You really think I'd thwart courage and strength, not to mention the comfort you're bringin' to those kids? I told you at Christmas – it's a gift."

Their eyes met again, but this time they were not challenging each other. Chantal nodded and let a real smile lifted her lips. Jess handed her the flask and said simply: "The word is _partager_ _!_ Next time, y' _talk_ to me about it before you go harin' off. ʖComprendes?"

"Si, senor Maton!" The words were joking, but the emotion was sincere.

Jess's eyes too were full of mischief as he went on, "Besides, I wouldn't need t'stop you. Slim's much better at logical persuasion than I am. He'd tie you to the chair rather than let you do anything so mad!"

Slim was about to deny this prediction vehemently, but he was inherently honest and had to admit Jess knew him so well that it was close to the truth. There was no way he could imagine allowing Chantal or any other woman to take such risks. He was still grappling with the fact that Jess was perfectly prepared to do so, indeed it seemed to be a given strength of this outwardly turbulent relationship.

As if in answer to his misgivings, Jess reached out and twisted his hand in the shining strands of Chantal's hair. He gave it a gentle, reminiscent tug. "This weapon's on my side," he reminded Slim quietly.

A little silence fell between them all, but it was now a companionable silence which recognised that each of them had a part to play in bringing this rescue mission to a safe ending – a comfortable silence which acknowledged their loyalty and mutual support.

Presently Jess gave Chantal's hair a sharper tweak and, releasing her, ordered: "Tell Slim what you found again. He's got to pass the information to Samson and whoever else comes as back-up. Then we'd best get ourselves ready for the horrors of bein' entertained by Carlin!"

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Research on mining conditions is at the end of the story.


	9. Chapter 9

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 **9**

"He can't do much in a public eating place, surely?" Chantal sounded uncharacteristically nervous as she adjusted her hat in the mirror. It was not that she was afraid of Carlin – oh no! She was just conscious of Jess behind her, radiating dislike of her hair-style, not to mention the fancy hat. "This thing didn't travel very well. Does it look squashed?"

Jess gave it another look of loathing. "I can't tell. What was it supposed to look like?"

"You look fine!" Slim intervened hastily, although he couldn't help adding: "I don't suppose Carlin knows any more about hats than Jess does!"

"I wouldn't put anything past Carlin," Jess said gloomily. "You ready?"

Chantal bestowed a delightful smile on Slim, although their increasing familiarity with each other rendered it less effective than it might have been. She glared at Jess. "Are you suggesting that I go out to dine with this man looking anything less than thoroughly rich and sophisticated?" she demanded.

Jess heaved a sigh. "Don't let the role go to your head. The hat's bad enough!"

"Are you being deliberately aggravating?"

As sense of déjà vu struck Slim. Wasn't this where it all began? But Jess was insisting in his most innocent voice: "You're meant to be thoroughly irritated. I'm just bein' helpful. Saves you havin' to fake it."

"You're just getting your own back for having to wear a decent shirt for once!" she retorted. "Are _you_ ready?" She looked him up and down critically, but could find no fault in the relatively clean and amazingly undamaged black pants and shirt he had on.

"As I'll ever be." Jess picked up his hat and turned to Slim, who was resisting an urge to tell the pair of them to stop procrastinating and get on with it. "We'll keep Carlin occupied and away from the fort as long as we can. I reckon Samson will be back in town by noon at the latest. He'll know how to contact everyone and what to do with the evidence we've got now."

"Chantal's our only witness," Slim reminded him unnecessarily. "Take care of her!"

"I'm her body-guard," Jess pointed out. "What else would I be doing?"

The only truthful answer was that he would be letting her take her own risks and together they'd deal with the consequences. Slim nobly refrained from saying so as Jess opened the door with exaggerated politeness and ushered Chantal out.

An unwelcome surprise greeted the pair as they strolled casually out of the hotel. Right in front of it, a buckboard was drawn up. And sitting in the driving seat of the buckboard, smiling like a genial wolverine, was Bud Carlin.

"Well, now …" His smile stretched ever further as he looked Chantal over. "My men certainly didn't exaggerate!"

Chantal was accustomed to fulsome compliments and to men more or less falling over themselves to court her. Well, nearly all of them, with a couple of notable exceptions: she realised then that what she like about Jess and now about Slim was that they just treated her with normal courtesy. _No – Slim always did. Jess? Maybe, but it all depended …_

He was being courteous now, putting a hand to her elbow as if to support her in this encounter and at the same time giving off a bodyguard's air of deference, boredom and a willingness to shoot anyone who came too close to her. It was infinitely preferable to Carlin's compliments.

"You certainly are a charming young lady!" Carlin jumped down and extended his hand. "I hope you'll ride up to my house with me and give me the pleasure of your company?"

Chantal's chin went up and she took a deliberate step back. "Do I know you?" she inquired in glacial tones.

Carlin's smile flickered. Ruthlessness and greed were vivid in his eyes in a split second. Then he laughed heartily and apparently genuinely. "You mean Harper didn't tell you about my invitation after all? Guess I can't blame him for wanting to keep you all to himself."

The irony of this was painful, but Chantal retorted coldly: "He's paid to keep people like you in your place!" After which she turned on Jess and demanded: "Is _this_ the outlaw you mentioned?"

Jess nodded and Carlin barked out another laugh. "My dear young lady, I'm no outlaw. Just a free man going about his business."

"In that case, I'm not interested. You're just as boring as all my father's tedious friends!" She turned on her heel, wrenching herself free from Jess's hold, as if to go back into the hotel.

Jess scowled at Carlin and said: "Come clean. You ain't served your sentence. You're an outlaw and you're on the run."

Carlin sighed. "If you insist."

Chantal turned back and surveyed him up and down with critical eyes. "You still look like a businessman."

"So let me prove otherwise." He extended his hand again to help her into the buckboard. "I don't need to advertise who I am to the whole world." His voice dropped and he added softly: "Just to those who get in my way!"

There was no avoiding going with him. Jess stepped aside and Chantal allowed herself to be handed up into the seat as Carlin apologised genially: "I'm sure a young lady of your sophistication would prefer a buggy, but the track to my house is rough and this is safer."

"Safer is my business!" Jess elbowed him out of the way and hopped neatly up beside Chantal. He picked up the reins and tossed them to Carlin. "You drive. You know the trail."

If looks could kill, it was a fair bet that Jess would have fallen stone-dead from the wagon in that instant. But fortunately they didn't. Carlin just shrugged as he caught the reins and climbed up. In no time at all, they were being carried off to the one place neither of them had anticipated or ever wanted to enter again – at least, not until they could rescue those imprisoned children!

 **# # # # #**

Left alone once more in the hotel room, a place he was beginning to get heartily sick of, Slim considered his options. The level of nocturnal activity involved in this investigation was giving him an unassuaged desire to sleep all the time, which he sternly suppressed. Although he was deeply thankful and happy that Jess had retrieved Chantal from the dark imprisonment of the fort, yet another night's alarms and excursions were not without a toll. It would have been easier to stay awake if he could do something active, but it would be unwise to wander about in the town and there was nowhere else he could be safely concealed except Samson's wagon. In the event, it was a good thing that this option was open to him.

He'd been dozing fitfully in the armchair, wondering if Carlin had worked out the real reason why Jess was in town and if so, what would happen. His heart was chilled by thoughts of how Carlin might take revenge if the truth were known. And he continued to be deeply concerned about Chantal, even if Jess appeared to take risks to her in his stride. Slim could not go down and find out what was happening in whichever saloon Carlin had chosen to entertain his guests in, but something intuitive told him that trouble was brewing.

It certainly was. At this juncture, he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock of the door. He knew it was not Jess returning, because they had agreed to signal each other, just in case. This was the surreptitious unlocking of the door which suggested that whoever it was had no right to be entering.

Slim dived out of the chair and rolled under the bed.

His new position served to confirm his opinion about the standard of housekeeping in the hotel. The dust was so thick he was going to be hard put not to sneeze his head off. He held his breath, peered at the narrow gap between the bedding and the floor, and listened hard.

Two pairs of scuffed boots were visible below the edge of the quilt, almost comical in the exaggerated carefulness with which they tiptoed across the boards. Their purpose was far from comic. Slim heard them moving round the room, obviously searching for something. What they hoped to find, he could not imagine, as the contents of the room were meagre indeed and they had been careful to make sure there was no trace of his presence.

"Most of this stuff's the girl's."

"No kiddin'? Typical woman!"

"Go through the saddle-bags – they must be Harper's."

There was the sound of the contents being dumped on the floor, over which one man commented: "Some fellas get all the luck. Fancy havin' to share a room with that broad!"

"Accordin' to Carlin, he can't stand the sight of her, so I guess he ain't takin' any advantage of it."

"More fool him!"

"When he could be havin' so much fun! Still, they'll both get proper entertainin' up at the fort."

The crude laughter which accompanied this statement made Slim's blood run cold. None of them had anticipated this move on Carlin's part and, since his whole enterprise was shrouded in secrecy, it did not bode well for Jess and Chantal to be transported into the middle of it.

"Anythin' to find?"

There was the sound of shuffling and of things being tipped back into the bags. "Nothin' here except spare ammo and socks."

"No papers? Nothin' to show he's still workin' for Sherman?"

"No."

"And nothin' to show Sherman's around here?"

"No. But Carlin reckons where you find one of the pair, the other won't be far away."

"Looks like he's wrong. He ain't gonna be pleased."

"He's damn difficult to please all the time!"

"I thought he'd got proof anyway?"

"Yeah. Guess he just wanted evidence that Harper's stupid enough to incriminate himself."

"Judgin' by his deputisin' in Laramie, crime ain't his thing anymore."

"No. That's what Carlin wanted …"

The voices faded into the corridor and the key turned once more in the lock. Slim remained perfectly still until he had mentally walked with the searchers down the stairs, across the lobby and into the street. Presumably they would go straight back to the fort to report to Carlin. He counted his way down the street to the Livery stables and gave them time to mount up and head out of town. Only then did he move.

It was a good job he was aiming to be taken for a down-at-the-heel drifter, as the grime now adhering to his person would have done justice to Jess in one of his less civilised moments. For good measure, Slim swept his hat under the bed a couple of times too, and rubbed his hands over his face. Nothing could now be further from his normal neat, workmanlike appearance – provided you didn't happen to notice that the hat was a very good quality, his clothes were all in one piece and his boots well heeled.

Despite these sartorial discrepancies, Slim was able to wander his way around to the Livery, keeping a close but surreptitious eye out for the searchers or at least for their boots which were the only things he had seen, or anyone else suspicious. After a while, he gave up on the 'suspicious' bit – the entire population of the town was dubious to an extreme. He simply kept himself to himself and proceeded on his way. No-one appeared to take the slightest notice of him, which said much for his acting skills but little for the observational accuracy of Carlin's men, given the clues right under their collective nose.

Samson was hard at work. A line of horses were tethered to the Livery corral and he was busy shoeing. Whatever the smithying provisions of a place, a travelling smith could always find work if he cut the price down – at least until the local one decided to run his opponent out of town. He looked up as Slim approached and brushed an arm over his sweating forehead.

"Hah! You've turned up at last, have you? Well, get working on the bellows and if you're hungover, too bad!"

It felt very public, but Slim soon realised he was being hidden in plain sight. No-one bothered with the smith's scruffy assistant as long as he kept the bellows going and the fire red hot. They worked until the line of horses had all been shod and the heat of early afternoon, even blanketed as it was by the thick cloud which had gathered once more, made them beat a retreat to the wagon.

Slim wanted nothing more than to stretch his weary arms and grab a cold drink. Instead he found himself shaking hands politely. He didn't feel particularly polite, but this mood, in his view, was no excuse for forgetting your manners. It was just that he still had ambivalent feelings about the two men who were seated in the wagon – and this despite it being the second time they had been an evident force for good in something he was involved in. It was just difficult, such a short time after the war, to find yourself beholden to your former enemies. And, of course, it was just as difficult because they knew Jess and had shared experiences with him which Slim had no part of.

Meeting Callum Harper always made him feel he was seeing double. Cal was slightly taller than Jess, but had the same wiry build, broad shoulders and slim hips. There was the same determined look about his jaw, the same lean features and the same thick, wavy hair. If it hadn't been for the fact that the hair was the colour of burnished copper and the eyes below it a shade of blue-green, they could have passed for twins. Cal, however, radiated calm confidence, whatever problems were besetting him, and it was impossible not to warm to his innate good humour and friendliness.

The other man was a more challenging proposition. To start with, his authority and command were natural and autocratic. His hawk-like face and dark, brilliant eyes spoke of a proud and independent heritage that did not suffer fools gladly. And with his long black hair caught back with a leather thong, Indian-fashion, his black buckskin clothing and the silver jewelry at his throat and wrists, Stewart Vincent St John Warwick looked like someone who was not going to make any concession to other people's opinions.

Cal leapt to his feet, making the wagon rock precariously. "Good to see you!" A beam of delight lit his features and his outstretched hand grabbed Slim's and pulled him into a warm hug. "One day we're goin' to meet when there ain't a crisis and we can just down a beer together."

Slim felt himself relax a little as he was released from Cal's infectious enthusiasm.

"I'm all for that!" Warwick agreed, as he too held out his hand. "But brandy. And the Wolf-cub can pay!"

His firm grip was brief and business-like, in contrast to Cal's greeting – but then you couldn't get two friends who were more opposite, unless, of course, you were looking at Jess and Slim himself. And Warwick was something else in his own right as well. Slim still could not bring himself to think of him by the familiar nickname which Jess and Cal used so casually, but the man's next words surprised him considerably.

"Your reconnaissance is excellent. When we're fully gathered, there'll be no difficulty following the information you've given us. You're a very accurate observer."

"Thanks," Slim muttered. Pulling himself into a more coherent frame of mind, he went on to relay briefly and succinctly what Chantal had discovered about the use of the children in the diamond mine. He concluded: "Everyone needs to know this. If we're not acting together, with a really accurate picture of the place and the situation, it could be a disaster instead of a rescue. Especially now."

"Why? What's happened?" Both men spoke together, but it was to Warwick that Slim replied.

"Carlin's taken Jess and Chantal up to the fort. He searched the hotel room and he suspects Jess is stringing him along about wanting to join the gang."

Warwick's black-wing brows drew together as he considered this new intelligence. "We can't take the fort by daylight and we're still under strength. We'll have to wait until evening when we're all gathered. I set dusk as the deadline."

"And we'll have to hope and pray that Jess can go on spinning Carlin a convincing line in lies!" Cal pointed out.

"Well, he's your cousin, so it should be no problem for him," Warwick told him with an unexpected grin. "But the girl …"

"Jess reckons she can look after herself," Slim put in, before adding grimly: "and she's shown plenty of determination and initiative so far!"

Both the other men had sympathetic expressions on their faces at this statement and Slim guessed that they had been at least partially dragooned into letting Chantal bring the message from them. Cal added, in an echo of Samson: "She'll need plenty around Jess." He didn't seem particularly bothered by this female entanglement of his cousin's. Slim wished he felt the same.

"And patience!" Warwick added dryly. "We'll all need that. All we can do now is sit here and wait."

It was true, but Slim longed for action. He felt he had spent far too much time sitting around and even more trying to catch up on sleep. And it would be all too easy for them to doze off in the close warmth of the wagon.


	10. Chapter 10

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 **PART 2**

' _That dark fortress received the sunlight like a mortal wound.'_

Salman Rushdie

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 **10**

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The atmosphere in the fort was stifling. Set as it was on a high bluff, overshadowed by the mountains, it seemed to absorb heat and hoard it like a miser. Carlin's house was no exception to this, but it was also a total surprise. Given the dark and brutal nature of the place and the ruthless cruelty of the man running it, it seemed incongruous that they should be sitting down at a proper dining table and be served with palatable food. The girls who were responsible for this service shot Chantal several hostile looks, but as they were not present for the meal she chose to ignore the antagonism for the time being.

Carlin made a great show of seating Chantal and Jess appropriated the chair on her left with exactly the fluid arrogance he had demonstrated in the wagon. Four of Carlin's men, including his chief lieutenant, sat down on the opposite side of the table, but Carlin remained standing. He looked down with amusement at his guests, almost as if he construed their unwillingness.

"We have a custom here which makes for a nice family atmosphere," he informed them genially. He gestured to the pegs in the wall behind him as he spoke. "Everyone at the table hangs up their gun-belt until the meal is over - saves a lot of unnecessary bloodshed ."

The four men made haste to comply. Jess stood up slowly, watching Carlin like a hawk. "You 'n I gonna do it together then?" he asked.

"Of course." Carlin began to unbuckle his own belt and Jess, albeit reluctantly, mirrored his every move. When their guns were safely out of reach, Carlin turned back to the table and said jovially, "It applies to ladies too. If you'd like to put your derringer on the table, ma'am, that will suffice."

After she had reluctantly complied, the meal proceeded in an entirely conventional way. It seemed impossible somehow that Carlin, the charming host and raconteur, could possibly have any other designs than to entertain them. The company discussed the exploits of various well known outlaws and fortunately Jess had crossed paths with enough of them to be able to keep up his reputation. The food was reasonably well cooked and presented, but Chantal hoped Carlin did not know about Jess's habitual appetite – because he was eating extraordinarily little, as little as he thought he could get away with. Presumably he figured there was trouble ahead and didn't want to fight on a full stomach.

It was not until the meal had ended that the crisis came. They'd been talking about the way the growing network of telegraph and railways helped to spread news quickly. This obviously favoured the forces of the law and those around the table, who wanted to evade it, were vehement in their dislike and condemnation of such innovations. Suddenly the topic turned dangerous.

"It's a good thing I've kept up with the news," Carlin's smile grew harder as he spoke. "Kept up with what's been going on in a certain back-end town in Wyoming, for instance. And the activities of the owner of a miserable relay station not far from Laramie."

"Thought you'd have better things to do with y' freedom," Jess sneered, apparently unmoved by this revelation.

"I never forget anything!" Carlin assured him, his fingers going to his jaw as they had before. "Not least something I heard less than a month ago."

"And what was that?" Jess contrived to sound totally bored, although behind the facade he was thinking furiously.

"That the relay station is now a partnership. Seems they've got real fond of a retired gun-slick? And maybe you didn't part company as soon as you suggested?"

Jess sighed and said, with an air of long-suffering: "Ok, I thought I could make an easy dollar or two out of the partnership deal. Soon found out my mistake! Ranching's nothing but a hard slog, day in, day out. When Sherman talked me into escortin' his friend's daughter, it looked like a good way out. I find I like travellin' a hell of a lot more than I do diggin' fence post holes!"

"You lied about Sherman!" Carlin's tone did not suggest he took this well.

Jess sighed again. "Of course I did! You can't stand Sherman and I want a job. You weren't gonna feel more kindly to me if I admitted to the partnership, now were y'?"

Chantal held her breath. This inventive piece of logic sounded entirely natural, but was Carlin going to buy it?

"You want to sign on with me? To be _my_ hired gun? Instead of taking her for yourself?" His predatory glance switched suddenly to Chantal. "That's the first time I've been more attractive than a beautiful female!" There was a burst of laughter from Carlin's men, which he quelled with a single, hard look.

"Well, I had hopes she might hitch up with me," Jess admitted with apparent frankness, "but I ain't never met a female less susceptible to any kind of courtin'. If there's any money to be made out of such a bitch, it's gonna be by puttin' some kind of pressure on her old man."

"Kidnapping? Blackmail? Threatening to damage the goods?" Carlin sounded as if he could go on inventing possibilities for some time, but he didn't get the chance.

"When you've quite finished discussing me as if I was a payroll you were stealing!" Chantal told them in icy terms: "You might like to consider what I can contribute on my own account. I've no wish to be trapped into another version of the life I've just escaped, but I'm not going to change it for poverty! I am the only one who can really persuade my father to part with any money without unnecessary trouble on your part."

"Really?" Carlin gave her a long, considering look, calculating where his most profitable options lay. "Your father's a friend of Sherman's. How to I know that the two of you aren't in cahoots behind my back?"

Chantal gave a haughty sniff. "Believe me, I've never met Sherman or his … _partner_ … until I got him as a body-guard. A not very efficient one, either, I may say!"

"Look, lady!" Jess leapt up from the table, his chair crashing behind him. "I've had just about enough of you! All I did was what you asked. And _believe me_ , the money you paid ain't anything like enough for the aggravation!"

Bud Carlin looked from one to the other of the angry pair in gleeful amusement. He was always willing to have a little free entertainment, but he also had more serious things in mind.

"So you want shot of him, do you? And he can't wait to get out of your employment. I'm certain I can help."

This statement did nothing to reassure either of them but it was too late to back down, even if it would have helped. Whatever Carlin had in mind, they had to go through with it. His self-satisfied smirk was not encouraging.

"Let's make sure I've got this straight. Harper, you want me to take you on because you're a fast gun and you're through with Sherman and this escorting job?"

Jess had not resumed his seat. Instead he slammed both hands on to the table and leaned towards Carlin, looking far from enthusiastic or co-operative. "You heard. And if you ain't interested, I can hire out anywhere."

"Possibly." Carlin shrugged as he turned to Chantal. "And you want to get out of an arranged marriage and find some more exciting company?"

She did not deign to reply to this, just inclined her head in a frigid nod.

"So I need to find out if this gun-slinger is serious about joining us and if you really couldn't care less about him? I do believe it might prove amusing!" He crooked a finger to the man who acted as his chief lieutenant. "Call up the boys. I want everyone in the yard except the main guards." He turned and lifted down Jess's gun-belt from the peg behind him. "Let's see if you're really tough enough to have the right to wear this."

The yard of the fort was hot and dusty. Not a breath of air stirred and the beat of the sun's rays was heavy, despite the lowering cloud obscuring it. Carlin steered Chantal firmly to the far side, where they could look down the long line of his men as they stood in two rows across the whole area. Her eyes widened as she realised that every man was armed in some way - a whip, a rifle-stock, a stick, a gun-butt, a belt – all of them leaning forward in anticipation, like hounds straining at the leash.

Jess did not follow them. Instead he halted at other end of the double row of men. His head lifted and his eyes bored into Carlin for a moment. He shrugged and tossed his hat to one side. This was swiftly followed by his vest and then he pulled the shirt he had objected to so much over his head and dropped it with the rest. His shoulders hitched and flexed for a moment.

"Ready," he told Carlin.

Carlin drew a quick breath, almost as if he were surprised. He stared hard down the waiting lines at the man standing calm and resolute at the other end. His attention switched to the men in the lines. "Stick to the rules of the game," he told them abruptly. "You can take one step forward. You can strike when he's in front of you. No blades or anything that can pierce and no gun play!" Then he looked directly at Jess again. He held up the gun-belt, stretched between his hands. "You want this? Come and get it!"

It took every ounce of Chantal's self-control as she realised what was about to happen. She knew if she showed the slightest reaction to what Jess was about to undergo, it would be the end for both of them. She stared down the long avenue of eager men and focused her whole attention on Jess's eyes. As she did so, he too looked up and met and held her gaze as if it was a magnet to draw him safely through the storm of violence about to break over him.

Carlin accorded Jess a mocking bow. "When you're ready, Mr Harper!"

Jess knew that he was allowed to protect his head and he had no illusions about what would happen if he didn't. But he also needed to see where he was going. He put both hands behind his head and steeled himself to take the first step forward. It was, perhaps, twenty paces to the other end. Twenty paces to be taken at a steady walk, as long as he could stand on his feet. He fixed his eyes on his goal. And the eyes shone back at him with unswerving courage.

He began to move between the lines of waiting men, casually, smoothly, lightly as if he were strolling down the centre of a main street and heading for a shoot-out.

The first blows would have made him stagger if they had come singly, but landing all at once as they did, he was simply driven onward from both sides. Almost immediately he had to switch off the pain and enter into the deep, calm place which was the source of the resolution that would carry him through it. Long ago he had learnt the bitter lessons of physical suffering and the impassive endurance which enabled survival, triumph even.

The blows became more erratic and more savage, their intent to beat him into the earth of the yard.

He walked on stubbornly, his eyes firmly fixed on the end.

 **# # # # #**

"Jess! No! Don't!" The plea was barely whispered but deeply agonised.

Slim jolted from relaxation to vigilance, all his own misgivings suddenly forming a cold vice around his heart. He shook his head, peering into the dusty light which seemed to be fogging his vision. He looked round the interior of the smith's wagon.

Callum Harper was sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide open and fixed rigidly ahead of him, but he was not seeing anything – or at least, not anything in the wagon. A violent shudder ran through his lean frame and he gasped in pain, flinching as if blows were raining down on him.

Almost in the same instant Vin Warwick was kneeling at his side. The look of anguished concern on his face made it impossible any more for Slim to think of him just by the cold designation of his surname.

"What is it?" Vin laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, but his face was grim.

There was no reply except for another agonised groan.

"Cal! Tell me!"

Still no reply. Cal's arms were wrapped round his body as if to protect himself and he had bitten his lip so hard that blood trickled down and dripped on to his shirt.

Vin gave an exasperated sigh and shook him harder. "Report, soldier! We need your observations!" The demand was sterner now, with all the authority that a commanding officer has over his men.

"Gotta keep walking …" Cal's low growl sounded uncannily like Jess, even though his normal speaking voice was much lighter. "Gotta get … to the end!" He was struggling fiercely to stand upright, despite still being oblivious of his surroundings and companions, but fell back on his knees.

Vin looked up from the suffering man. He stared at Slim, his black eyes burning and the full force of his anger blazing out as if it were Slim's fault. "One of these days –" he said between his teeth, "one of these days I'm going to –" He stopped abruptly. Vin St John Warwick was a just and generous man and he knew he was looking at his equal. He had no doubt that Slim was feeling just as powerfully moved by this uncanny link between the two cousins as he was. And venting frustration at the process was not going to help either of them.

"Hold up, Cal!" Vin tightened his grip, supporting the other man with a firm hand under one arm and lifting him upright. "Keep breathing, now. Breathe through it. Stay calm."

Without being asked, Slim moved swiftly to hold Cal's other arm and between them they sandwiched the distressed man, enabling him to remain upright.

"Keep breathing!" Vin ordered again, sensing that somehow Cal was linked directly to whatever was happening to Jess. "Keep going. Stay with him!"

It seemed like eternity as they both tried to pour mental and physical strength into the one who was dreaming. Slim had no idea why he felt it was so vital to keep Cal on his feet and to lend him every ounce of energy which he could. He just did.

Gradually the rasping, panting breath grew quieter, although the tormented shuddering seemed even more intense. Suddenly Cal slumped in a heap, so suddenly they almost didn't catch him. Vin lowered him to the floor of the wagon. He was deathly pale and lay absolutely still. So still that if it had not been for the faint rise and fall of his ribs, it would have seemed he was actually dead.

Vin leaned out of the back of the wagon and called: "Sam, can you get me some water, please."

He came back shortly with a jug and a cloth in his hand. He crouched down next to Slim, who was still supporting Cal gently. When the unconscious man's face had been cleaned and bathed, he seemed to breathe more easily and some colour returned to his cheeks.

"Let's sit him up," Vin said quietly. "It usually helps to wake him."

Sure enough, once they had done this, Cal stirred and shifted, yawning slightly and completely normally. He rubbed his eyes and stared at them in puzzlement. "What's up with you two? I thought you were goin' to take a nap? You look exhausted."

"It proved quite an exciting rest," Vin replied drily. "Do you remember the dream?"

Cal's face blanched again and he looked from one to the other of them in horror. "The ganlet! He ran the ganlet!" He leapt to his feet, heading for the flap of the wagon. "Lemme get to him!"

"Stop right there!" Vin grabbed the flying figure before he could jump from the wagon. "Use your head, will you! You can't just rush up there. You'll wreck everything."

"I've gotta go!" Cal looked as if he was prepared to fight with all the characteristic stubbornness of the Harper clan. "Gotta find Jess!"

He was unexpectedly backed up by Slim moving to stand with him. "He's right. If that's true," – his mind recoiled at the thought, but it had to be faced – "if the dream is real, Jess needs help to survive it!"

"He'll need help to survive me!" Vin snarled. But it was the last outburst of his anger at the dreaming. He looked at the pair of them and began to think logically. "Alright, but you'll have to take the same way you did when you used the rope. And if you value those children's lives, don't let anyone see you!"

Quite how they were going to do this if Jess was still in the middle of the hostile fort, he did not specify. Vin was a great believer in strategic improvisation, which was what had enabled him to lead so many reckless but successful raids into Yankee territory.

Cal gave an appreciative thump to Slim's arm. He took the bandages and salve which Vin handed him with a wry grin. Then he led the way cautiously out of the wagon to find their horses. All was quiet in the heat of mid-afternoon and they were able to retrieve Alamo from the hotel stables without trouble. As they did so, Traveller turned in his stall, his eyes wide and his ears pricked so hard they were like furry arrows. Slim didn't think Jess would be in any fit state to ride, but he would also be furious if they assumed he couldn't. He saddled the bay too and they led the horses, step by furtive step, until they were out of town and safe to ride to the rescue.

 **# # # # #**

Four more steps. That was all that was needed. Four steps to the end.

Jess clung like a life-line to the jade-green eyes calling him onward. He had shut down all the responses of pain and felt as if he was moving in a calm, cold sphere, devoid of sensation. Somewhere in his mind he knew he had sustained damage, maybe serious damage, but his will and his training over-rode the pressure to attend to the needs of the body. That would come later, when this was all over and there was time.

Carlin stood, impassive, at the end of the line, holding up Jess's gun-belt.

Three more steps.

Two.

One.

Jess came to a halt. Slowly he reached out and took the gun-belt from Carlin's hands. Slowly he buckled it on again and tied it down. Then he lifted his eyes to meet those of his enemy.

He did not feel the thud of the pistol-butt on the back of his neck. He pitched face down on the dusty earth.

Carlin gave a little chuckle of triumph. "Brought you to your knees in the end, didn't I?" he boasted, but his words sounded hollow. Angrily he turned and grabbed Chantal by the arm. "Take a good look, darling!" Carlin's hand shoved her towards Jess's limp body. "Take a good look at the one who's supposed to be protecting you!"

Chantal found herself forced across Jess's sprawled body, her face so close to his the blood joined the two of them together. She wanted nothing more than to fling her arms round him and keep everything and everyone from doing him any more harm. But that would be playing into Carlin's hands. She stiffed her back and pulled away.

"Get me out of this!" she demanded. "He's nothing but trash, a corpse, no use to anyone!"

"Yeah, we can deal with trash!" Carlin grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet again. He turned once more to his lieutenant. "Throw him over the stockade!"

Inwardly Chantal screamed: the fall itself would probably kill Jess, if his injuries didn't. Outwardly she maintained her scornful facade and said derisively: "How unimaginative!"

Carlin scowled at her. "What would you suggest?" he demanded.

"You want to keep people away from this place?" When he nodded, she continued: "I'd take him down the trail a way. Leave him propped up against a convenient boulder and let the crows and the coyotes do the rest! A little sign for others to read," she laughed. But she was hanging on to a slender hope, the very faintest of movement that she had felt in Jess's fingers when her hand had covered his own.

A cruel gleam lit Carlin's eyes. "You're a woman after my own way of thinking!" he complimented, before turning to his men. "Do as she says!"

The men began to disperse, only a couple of them remaining to deal with Jess's body. As they bent to do so, his lieutenant began to unbuckle Jess's gun-belt. He was summarily stopped by a command from Carlin: "Leave it! Just make sure you take the bullets." His face was a curious mixture of hatred and admiration as he added: "He's proved he's got the right to wear it."

"You sure you ain't recruitin' him?" the man asked curiously. "Ain't never seen anyone take it quite like he did."

Carlin scowled. He'd subjected men to such a treatment frequently, just to test their metal. More often than not they'd cave in before it was over, sometimes even before it had begun. Such men could be cowed into obedience. "He's got too much independence!" he replied shortly, and under his breath added, "And too little fear …"

"Maybe we should just hang him by the trail?"

"No. Tie his hands. Then leave him." An evil grin spread over Carlin's face. "It's a much slower death. And a better warning!"

He still had hold of Chantal's arm and, once he was satisfied that his orders were being carried out, steered her irresistibly back into the house.

"Now, my dear, let's see if I can make life a little more … exciting for you … and entertaining for me!"

Chantal took him by surprise as she twisted out of his hold and told him contemptuously. "You call that exciting? Seeing one man beaten half to death by so many? I'd rather have watched a decent knife-fight! But perhaps you were afraid he'd win?"

"Would you, indeed?" Carlin regarded her thoughtfully. "I'm sorry Mr Harper won't be able to oblige. But _he_ isn't going to be beating anyone in the foreseeable future."

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 _Running the gauntlet (19th c. US = ganlet)_ was an ancient form of trial. In some cultures it was used to test courage and endurance, manhood even, and as an initiation rite. In the period of the story, it had become a mainly military and severe punishment for serious crimes, sometimes resulting intentionally in death.

It would be possible, but probably not help the flow of the story, to use period vocabulary throughout. In this instance, the 19th C term just felt right for the experience of the characters concerned.


	11. Chapter 11

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 **11**

Uppermost in both Slim's and Cal's minds, as they rode once more up the secret approach through the gorge to the fort, was the fear of what such a beating might have done to Jess. They'd both knew the results when the ganlet was used for punishment and Cal had seen a man put to death by this method. It did not help that they had no option but to pick their way slowly and cautiously until they were once more under the rope-point on the stockade.

"Do we climb?" Cal's whisper was barely audible even to Slim.

"In daylight? We can't risk it. Not unless we can definitely get to him," Slim responded equally softly. "Where is he?"

Cal was about to retort that he was not psychic just because he happened to dream his cousin's dreams, but the question was unexpectedly answered for them. On the walkway above, the guards were changing over for the evening shift and discussing their recent sadistic employment.

"Reckon we shoulda slung him over here anyway!"

"Nah, Carlin's right. Imagine gettin' gnawed by a coyote or pecked to death by crows." Harsh laughter accompanied the statement.

"If he doesn't escape somehow."

"He's in no state to go anywhere!"

"So where'd they dump him?"

"Down the trail aways – that big fall of bounders on the first bend – sun's goin' down and the breeze is comin' up – the smell of blood'll bring every carnivore for miles!" There was more ugly laughter, but Slim and Cal did not hear it. They were already on their way.

Inching their path round the bottom of the stockade and then through the woods lining the trail was painfully slow going. Both of them were reminding themselves that it would do Jess no good if they were caught and, equally vitally, it would make rescuing the children even more hazardous, if not impossible.

When at length they found the boulders, there was no sign of Jess, at least not on the obvious trail-side of the pile. And it was clear that he'd been there, because of the bloodstains drying rapidly on the dusty surface of a flat rock several feet above the road. It made good platform for a grisly warning or it would have done if there had been a tied, unconscious and possibly half-eaten body on it. But there was no such thing.

Slim and Cal looked at each other, the same reaction clear on both their faces: _trust Jess to disappear when he was supposed to be unconscious, tied up and badly in need of assistance!_ Cal was mentally cursing him for an ungrateful brat and Slim found the word 'aggravating' had suddenly acquired a whole new level of meaning. Both of them were, of course, trying to subdue their deepest fears with the help of familiar annoyance.

"He must have left traces," Cal pointed out. He scrambled up to the ledge and looked around. He gave a chuckle and called down to Slim, "Only Jess would climb _up_! He must've gone over the top. I'll climb, you go round the base. He can't have got far!"

He hadn't. They found him wedged into a narrow crevice which would make it extremely difficult for any animal or bird to make a direct attack on him. He was just about conscious, battered and dehydrated and very grateful for the canteen of water which Slim thrust into his hands as soon as they'd cut the ropes. How he'd managed to climb and slide and scramble into the crevice was a miracle since his hands were tied behind him. It certainly hadn't helped his injuries. He was covered with dark, purpling bruises and blood was still running sluggishly from innumerable cuts. If he'd looked battered after his fall into the trees, he looked a darned sight worse now.

Such was the extent of the beating that salve and bandages were of little use. Cal put them away reluctantly, but he knew Jess well enough to realise that he was in no mood to be doctored anyway. They did not have copious supplies of water, either, causing some sarcastic comments from Jess on the efficiency of their rescue, as he drank most of it and poured the rest over his head. If anything, this served to make him look even more of a blood-stained mess than before.

It took a few moments for the water and the situation to sink in and then he looked up at the dark outline of the fort on its cliff-top and exclaimed: "My hat's up there!"

"And your shirt, by the look of it. Or did you think we'd bring you a spare?" Slim quipped, hiding his shock at Jess's condition under habitual teasing. "If you've got one, that is?"

"Hell! Carlin's probably usin' it for a floor-rag!" Jess's face twisted into a comical grimace. "I'm never gonna hear the end of it!"

Neither of them asked ' _From whom?'_ They were both too concerned with whether Jess was going to be able to make it back to the comparative safety of their rendezvous below the stockade.

Slim reached out and ran a tentative hand over Jess's side. "Ribs again?" he asked.

"Probably," Jess admitted. "They'll keep. I'm fine."

Slim was so used to this contradictory statement that he ignored it completely, not even threatening to murder Jess in exasperation as he usually did. He looked Jess over carefully some more. The 'that-did-not-hurt' compartment was obviously still operating, but who knew for how long? Still, they could not stay where they were. "You ok to walk?" he asked.

"Y' know I hate walkin'!" Jess joked shakily, before he caught the gleam in two sets of eyes. "And you ain't carryin' me!" he added hastily, insisting again: "I'm fine!"

"Walk, then!" Cal ordered shortly and began to lead the way, leaving Slim to follow closely behind Jess, watching his every move for signs that it was too much. It was going to be difficult to know what to do if it was: Jess was about as open to being helped as a grizzly was to being woken from hibernation. In fact there was more than one resemblance in this comparison, but it did not make Slim chuckle. Right at the moment, he would give almost anything to have a totally grouchy and uncooperative Jess safely tucked up in bed and prevented from leaving it until he was fully healed. Some chance of that!

So their progress was slow, as slow as Jess's walk of torture had been. He stopped now and then, leaning a hand or an arm against a tree-trunk and drawing shallow, painful breaths. Slim and Cal wisely left him alone until he was able to go on. Eventually they reached the foot of the stockade and inched their way back to their starting point and thence down into the trees, out of ear-shot of anyone on guard. It was another location Slim was beginning to hate; he was just profoundly glad they had not had to climb the rope and rescue Jess from the fort.

"Someone must be looking after you," he commented as they all slumped down in the shade and concealment of the forest. "At least you weren't inside. It would have wrecked everything."

Jess moved restlessly, unable to find a comfortable way to sit or lean. "Y' can thank Tal for that," he told them. "She gave Carlin the idea."

"What?" Slim shot to attention. "Where is she?" This had simply not occurred to him, preoccupied as he had been with what had happened to Jess, and his immediate reaction was of immense guilt and concern.

"Runnin' rings round Carlin I expect." Jess gave him a somewhat lop-sided grin.

Slim stared at him in amazement, once again baffled by the contradictions of this relationship. "You can't seriously be telling me you're not worried?"

"I'd be worried if I was Carlin!" Jess replied. "You ain't seen what Tal can do when she puts her mind to bein' really awkward."

"Takes one to know one!" Cal remarked from under his hat, safe in the knowledge that Jess was not going to be able to wreak physical retribution for this.

"But –" Slim's objections were cut off by the startling silent appearance of several armed men as their reinforcements began to arrive. Vin stalked straight up to them and towered over Jess, radiating dire retribution. "You young idiot! You nearly wrecked the whole operation, pulling a stunt like that!"

Jess struggled to his feet, ready as always for confrontation. "Things were gettin' boring," he drawled in a casual manner deliberately calculated to provoke his former superior.

"Rope it in, the pair of you!" Cal ordered with sudden steel in his voice, as he too got to his feet. "Let him be about it, Vin. You know the dreaming ain't a matter of choice!" He swung round on his cousin too: "And you, Jess, quit foolin' and admit y' didn't have any option!"

"You dreamed?" A look of utter surprise transfixed Jess's face. "But I wasn't sleepin'." He was used to the indignation this unusual communication unfailingly provoked in Vin. But he was thankfully conscious that, as always, Slim had moved decisively to stand just behind his left shoulder, ready to meet any trouble together.

All the same, trouble was not going to improve matters and Slim was not going to let it break out and endanger the whole rescue operation if he could help it. "Sit down, everyone!" he said sharply, with a glance at Cal, enlisting his support.

"Good idea," the older Harper agreed. "Jess had better sit down before he falls down."

"Tell me about the dream!" Jess demanded.

"How many times have I – !" Vin began angrily, but Cal cut him off.

"Apparently I scared them out of their wits by actin' like you were feelin'."

Jess's eyebrows rose in puzzlement. "I didn't feel anything. Not while …" His voice trailed off, then he added. "Maybe that's why." He paused again. When he spoke next, his voice was more than usually husky with emotion: "Thanks!"

Cal shrugged. "Maybe it's the way you were brought up," he said, but immediately regretted it. It was not a part of the family history that they should be delving into in public. "Now just sit down, will y'. It'll make us all feel better."

Jess gave him a long look, full of hidden pain which only Cal could read, but to their surprise he slumped back down obediently. Slim walked round him and deliberately sat down between him and the others, shielding him from more confrontations.

Cal took Vin firmly by the arm and moved him away to join the growing group of Ranulfiar as they materialised through the dusk and tree shadows. There was an almost inaudible murmur of conversation – Vin giving orders for the attack. Presently the whole group, now numbering twenty men, moved with an uncanny unity and settled closer to Slim and Jess.

"You know who you're working with and what your targets are," Vin reminded them. "Leaders, check signs and communication with your men."

The men broke up into groups of five and began what appeared to be an entirely silent conversation, made up only of gestures, movements and natural sounds. After a few minutes of this, they settled back equally silently for the next stage.

"We need four more ropes over that stockade," Vin said. "Can't throw them – the noise'd give us away. One man needs to put them up there. Less chance of being observed."

Slim lifted a hand, caught by the non-verbal communication of the group. Then he added softly, "I've been up. The rest of you haven't."

Vin nodded in appreciation and thanks. It looked as if Jess was going to object because he'd climbed the rope too, but his commanding officer was too quick for him. "Not you, Jess! You'll be a damn nuisance in your present state and you'll jeopardise the others. Unless I have your word that you'll keep out from underfoot, I'll personally hog-tie you and leave you here till we're finished."

The words were uncannily familiar. Slim looked at Jess and knew without being told that he wasn't prepared to be left out. It was difficult to be intimidating when sitting cross-legged on the ground, but Vin seemed to manage it fairly effectively and Slim was not going to be outdone.

He leaned forward and ordered: "And if you don't use every last bit of energy and skill you've got left finding Chantal and getting her out of there, _I'll_ be personally responsible for doubling those bruises you're carrying now!"

Jess looked them both up and down speculatively. "Take the two of y' then, will it?" he goaded with an attempt at a grin. And as an after-thought: "What the hell d'y think I'm goin' to do? I _am_ her bodyguard!"

"Nothing more?" Slim raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. There were chuckles from one or two of the Ranulfiar who had encountered Chantal.

"Nothing that won't improve by keepin'," Jess replied obscurely; he seemed to be quoting.

"So let's get going." Slim rose to his feet and took the new ropes from Vin. They all crept once more towards the looming fortress.

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 _Acknowledgement_ _of idea from 'The Sword in the Stone', T.H. White_


	12. Chapter 12

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 **12**

"Sit down!" Carlin ordered, unwittingly echoing the conversation which was currently going on right below his supposedly impregnable walls.

"In this state?" Chantal stuck her nose in the air, as if trying to distance herself from her blood-stained suit. "I require a bath and some fresh clothes." She glared at him in the most self-centred and spoilt manner she could manage. "I presume you do have such basic amenities, even in a hovel like this?"

"Do you indeed? You've got a lot to learn," Carlin told her with an unpleasant grin. "Sit down!"

Chantal remained defiantly standing. "I do not sit at table covered in blood! You are obviously not a gentleman if you expect me to do so."

"I never made any claim to gentlemanly behaviour," Carlin told her, but he was not relishing the thought of dealing with her in her present condition, so he shouted: "Maggie!" When one of the girls appeared from the kitchen, he ordered: "Get the lady bath water. And a change of clothing. In my room." The girl glowered at Chantal, but fled hurriedly when Carlin snapped: "Now, you little slut!"

Heating the water took some time, but when his orders had been obeyed, Carlin once more took Chantal by the arm and propelled her upstairs and into a room which looked out over the gap between the prison and the house. The bath of hot water was there, alright, but Chantal had no intention of putting so much as a finger in it until she had got rid of Carlin. Leaving aside modesty, she needed to keep her hands unobserved, since they hardly had the soft palms of a rich young lady. To which end she complained vigorously about the replacement clothes she was offered.

"Tawdry trash! You can't seriously expect me to participate in anything dressed like saloon scrapings!" She slapped the offending garments in Carlin's face, catching him a nasty blow across one eye as she did so. "Now get out and get me something better or you can forget about my father paying you anything!" she screeched.

Carlin clutched his smarting eye and suddenly found himself seriously off balance as a sharp boot-heel came down on his instep. Jess could have warned him, but certainly wouldn't have. Following up her advantage in no uncertain manner, Chantal gave him an almighty shove which sent him staggering blindly out of the door. He was lucky not to pitch straight down the stairs. It was all a total shock: he was used to much more subservient women,

Chantal was lucky too. Although she'd picked up sundry underhand methods of attack from her younger brothers and lately from Jess, she was really no match for a man like Carlin. It was sheer surprise and a desire to get out of earshot of a screaming female which worked in her favour. Besides, he reckoned that she wasn't going anywhere unless she was prepared to jump from a second floor window. Little did he know she had already considered this and was struggling to recall whether there would be any hand and footholds on the wall outside.

The replacement clothes arrived shortly, by way of a very angry Maggie, who opened the door, flung them on the floor and slammed the door again in Chantal's face. They were not much of an improvement, but had served their purpose as a diversion. Chantal quickly stripped off her ruined suit, splashed herself in a hasty wash rather than a bath, and dressed again in a skirt and shirt several sizes too big for her. Her hat had disappeared long ago in the violence of the courtyard.

She was still wrestling to make the clothes fit when the door opened without so much as a knock. Her captor gave her what he presumably assumed was an engaging leer and remarked: "That's an improvement. I never did like a woman covered in another man's blood."

Chantal's heart nearly stopped. Her gloves were still in the heap of discarded clothing on the floor next to the bath. She hastily put both hands behind her and contrived to look as furious as she could. "If these rags are the best you can do, I'm going to need a trip to town. Not that I expect there will be anything of quality there, but at least I might get something which will fit."

Carlin chuckled. "You expect me to take you on a shopping expedition?" He had to admire her nerve.

"If you won't, then provide me with a suitable escort, since you've made rather a mess of my previous one!"

"You won't need an escort because you won't be going anywhere," Carline assured her. "Not until I've worked out how to get the most out of you. So make yourself at home."

"You won't get anything out of me unless I'm in one piece and willing to negotiate with my father," she reminded him.

"No. But I can get some hard work out of you while I'm waiting for your father to cough up. You can put those pretty hands to good use!" He lunged suddenly at her and pulled her hands from behind her. "It won't hurt you to get them dirty for once." Gripping her inexorably by both wrists, Carlin turned her palms up.

Silence.

Carlin looked down at Chantal's hands. Even comfrey, however lovingly applied, could not work miracles: the blisters and cuts and abrasions had only lightly healed and the faint tinge of blue clay remained ingrained in the skin. When he looked up, the light of malign intelligence was glinting in his eyes. He said in soft and deadly tones: "There's only one place you could have got injuries like this. How did you get in there!"

"The same way every child does!" she spat back at him. There was no point in concealing her knowledge now. She was shaking inside at the thought of what he might do to extract further information from her. Only the awareness of the immanent raid by the Ranulfiar kept her from screaming and running. As it was, her only chance was to stall Carlin and keep his attention from what was happening outside as long as possible.

"You will go to hell!" Her voice was cold and low and as hard as the labour she had witnessed. "Or maybe I'll just let them loose to tear you to pieces the way you deserve, before you burn for all eternity."

The briefest flicker of fear showed in Carlin's expression. He had no dread of hell or damnation. No man who had made his choices would. But he knew the power of the mob, most of all the mob bent on vengeance. These might be children but there were far more of them than him and his men could handle at once.

"That tongue of yours is way too sharp! Harper was right when he –" Carlin stopped abruptly, his brain clearly working overtime. "You're in this together, you lying pair! You're no lady. Just some broad he's picked to get on the inside of my operation! And if Harper's playing games, what's the betting his side-kick won't be far away to back him up? Isn't that so?"

He shook her viciously and twisted one arm behind her, forcing her head towards the floor so that she was nearly bent double.

"I've never met him, I swear," Chantal gasped. "I met Harper in a saloon. He promised good money, plenty of money for risking the danger!"

A brutal wrench on her arm accompanied the next question. "Tell me what they planned."

"I don't know anything!" Chantal let her voice become tearful, but her free hand was busy.

"Tell me!" Another twist threatened to push all the air out of her lungs.

"I can't breathe! Let me up and I'll talk."

"That's more like it!" Carlin slackened his grip.

It was his mistake. As she straightened up, the knife in her hand (Harper maxim: always carry a knife in your boot) made a frantic upward sweep. She failed to make contact with Carlin's throat, but the blade sliced hard across his shoulder and narrowly missed severing his ear. He gave a roar of pain and let go.

Chantal sprang towards the window, but almost instantly he was after her again. She stood with her back braced against the wall and the knife thrust out before her in both hands. She hoped he didn't know how much it hurt to hold it so steadily.

"Forget it, little lady," he jeered. "You're no bigger than a kid and I've got twenty men to back me up."

Chantal glanced over her shoulder. "But I," she laughed, "have got the cavalry!"

 **# # # # #**

The raiding party spread out along the base of the stockade in their smaller groups as Slim inched his way silently up the rope, for the last time, he hoped. Despite the urgency of the task and his burning desire to open the prison door and his fervent hope that Jess would be able to stay on his feet long enough to find Chantal, he did not hurry. Hand over hand, he rose up the rope, using nothing more than his strong grip and the power of his upper body, and taking care his feet did not bang or scrap on the surface.

At last he was able to take hold of the upper edge and pull up to look over. Instantly he dropped back again, hanging by his fingertips, as a guard passed down the walkway, obviously heading for the gate-house. Below, everyone held their collective breath. If Slim's strength failed now, there would be no more concealment and they would be involved in an outright fight in which the men above them would have the advantage in firing down on them.

Slim's strength did hold out, although it was a near thing. As soon as the sound of footsteps became distant, he was hauling himself up and over the fence and dropping, as he had done before, into concealment in the shadows. It took only a minute more to secure and lower the other ropes. Having done this, he went back to the original one and shook it vigorously.

With uncanny speed, the men swarmed up, over and rolled into the shadows, just as he had done. When the last movement faded and all became still again, Slim began to count as he had been instructed below. There could be no more spoken orders now. Each man must know his job and his place in the team. Each of them had a task to fulfill.

When he had reached a hundred, Slim began to crawl towards the prison, passing the only group between him and it. They would follow and secure the prison itself and the arms store. The others were closer to the gatehouse and charged with dealing with all the other guards.

Beside him, Slim felt one of the Ranulfiar - Keilder, he recognised. He knew without being told that it was this man's task to deal with any guards they might encounter, freeing Slim himself to open the prison at the appropriate moment. Keilder suddenly froze. Slim stopped and dropped flat. Coming towards them was a guard, in the same position and on duty in the same way which had impeded Jess's rescue of Chantal. Remembering this, Slim sent up a brief prayer for their safety now.

The guard behaved exactly as Jess had described. He was almost treading on them when he halted for a moment, before turning back towards the prison. There was a lightning movement, a slight grunt, and the man lay unconscious. Keilder quickly used the man's gun-belt to immobilise him. Then he touched Slim's arm and they moved on.

After carefully surveying the yard below them, they found the ladder to ground level had once more been removed. One of their group had retrieved the rope they had climbed up and now passed it over to Keilder, who used it to swing down into the yard. He swiftly restored the ladder so they could descend, leaving one man above to deal with any opposition which came along the walkway. But so far there was almost no movement or sound in the blackness of the fort below.

The only sounds they could hear were some rustling and a few faint thuds on the other side of the yard. Another of their number slipped away to the arms store, taking guard inside where he would be reasonably protected and well placed to hold off any attack. This left three of them. Keilder and Slim remained either side of the barred door, their ears straining to catch the sounds which indicated that the prisoners were still there. The third man edged his way round the prison until he was in the alley leading to the locked gate. It was unlikely that resistance would come from this direction, but you never knew. He would also be able to give back up to the group who were taking care of the house, where the lighted windows stood out bright against the darkness of the rest of the place. Jess, Slim knew, was with this group, but it felt strange and disconcerting not to be going into tonight's fight side by side.

At least, Jess was supposed to be with this group, but, as Vin had experienced many times, giving Jess orders was one thing and getting him to obey them was something else entirely. It was Samson who had been left to guard the walkway and he was supremely unsurprised when Jess slid noiselessly up beside him. There was no way even with the most elaborate hand signals to say 'What the devil are you doing up here?' and, in the gloom, both men's expressions were unreadable. But, on his arm, Samson felt Jess tap out the code meaning 'I'm going forward – stay here.' The next moment the lean shadow at his side was gone like a part of the darkness itself. Samson could have been forgiven for groaning or sighing or grinding his teeth, had he been able to make any sound, but the only reaction he gave was the faintest of shrugs and a silent chuckle. He figured Jess probably knew what he was doing and where he was going.

Jess made it over the roof of the prison and as far as the edge overlooking the alley between the two buildings before he stopped. Below the fort was falling, without a sound, into the hands of the raiders. Soon the hideous confinement right under his feet would be broken open and Slim would be able to lead those children to safety. An affectionate smile twitched Jess's lips: he just bet Slim would find it hard to resist offering them the shelter of his home, at least in the short term. He was dedicated to family life and if anyone needed help and security, they could count on Slim to give it.

Crouching below the parapet, Jess loosed the rope which he had once again wound round his body. Its roughness on his bare skin had further exacerbated his injuries and the exertion of climbing and crawling had set blood running again as well as making his lungs pump painfully against his damaged ribs. He took not the slightest notice of all this, his only concern being that the blood did not make his hands slippery for what he expected to be his next move. He could not have said why he had chosen to come up here instead of going in the main entrance of the house with the others. It was some deep instinct of gut or heart which told him he was needed here.

Moments later, a movement in the lighted window opposite galvanised him into action. He threw the rope across the gap and lassoed a convenient chimney-pipe opposite. With a brief prayer that it was not too rusty hold his weight, Jess launched himself over the gap, swinging hard on the rope, and crashed straight through the open window.

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 _Acknowledgement of idea from 'Gone with the Wind', Margaret Mitchell_


	13. Chapter 13

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 **13**

Chantal ducked sideways and Jess's flying body slammed into Carlin with considerable force. The pair went hurling backwards, but somehow Carlin kept his feet and found himself facing what looked like an apparition from hell. The blazing eyes of the blood-soaked figure confronting him burned with such unleashed fury that he took an involuntary step back. _This man was supposed to be half-dead! What in hell itself could have driven him to such a revitalisation?_ The next moment he had his answer.

"The lady don't need a body-guard, but I'm still gonna break every bone in your damn body, one by one!"

"You?" Carlin sneered. "You're too weak. Too pathetic. You're finished – trash - just like she said. You'll never –"

He finally stopped talking because Jess's fist thumped savagely into his jaw. Carlin almost fell and Jess grabbed him before he did, knowing that he had only so much strength left. His next three blows, delivered with all the speed and power of a black bull charging, laid his enemy out cold on the floor. He stood, panting and swaying slightly, his blood dripping down onto the fallen body at his feet.

"That's better." His expression was savage as he raised his eyes and looked at Chantal. "Or maybe I should just rip his head off now?"

She drew in a breath, recognising that his protective instinct needed an outlet after being side-lined for so long. She was pretty sure Jess would never attack an unconscious man, however much he hated him, but figured he probably needed help reining in that temper of his. "Gracias, senor. Eso no será necesario."

"Pero será muy agradable!" His eyes were hard and bright with fury. "It'll be very enjoyable!"

"Suficiente. That's enough, Jess," she told him softly, carefully. "I ... we … and especially the children, don't need any more than you've already done to see him locked up for good."

He was still breathing hard, but she reckoned this was probably the result of his damaged ribs. The sooner those got seen to the better; he certainly hadn't been giving himself any respite since the beating. She looked towards the shattered window and allowed herself a small smile. "You could have used the stairs, Temerario."

"Too slow," Jess replied as he bent over and, instead of killing Carlin, fastened him securely with his own gun-belt and stripped the laces out of his boots to bind his ankles.

"How did you know where I was?" she asked curiously.

"It's where I'd take you," Jess replied absently, as he got unsteadily to his feet.

Chantal froze for a moment. "Why you - ! You - !" She was, for once, at a loss for words in any language. Then she flung herself at him, in quite her usual fashion.

Jess grabbed her by the shoulders. "Hold off or you'll get covered in blood again."

"I don't care, as long as it's yours!" Chantal was not sure if she was laughing or crying, but she got both arms round him, hugging him with passionate ferocity.

"I'll take that as a compliment, not a threat, then, shall I?" Jess bent his head and buried his face in the soft cloud of her hair.

They stood thus together for several minutes without speaking. It was a moot point who was propping who up.

Presently Jess stirred and they both released their hold on each other simultaneously. He bent and checked once more that Carlin was securely tied and still out for the count. "Let's get out of here. We'll send someone to collect the trash later." He took Chantal by the elbow and steered her firmly towards the window.

"Still no stairs?" Chantal was amused.

"Safer," was the clipped answer, but he obviously remembered something, because he went on: "Yeah, I know you can climbed down a rope ..." He paused as, at last, a mischievous twinkle returned to his eyes. "But isn't it supposed to be much more romantic if I carry you?"

"We don't do romantic," Chantal pointed out firmly, but, unwilling to lose such an opportunity completely, she hastened to add: "at least, not until all this is over and the children are free."

"Yeah, you're right." Jess was surveying the scene below. "Fortunately they've got Slim in charge and he'll move heaven and hell to make sure those kids are safe."

 _He's not the only one,_ Chantal thought, but she understood totally that it was Slim's cool head and planning ability which had ensured the success of the whole enterprise.

They managed to make an exit through the window without too much wrangling, although Jess did insist on lowering her because her hands would not stand the friction of the rope. Once they were crouched in the shadows, they found the smashing sound of Jess's entrance into the house had been the end of silent raiding and a signal for pandemonium to break out. There was sporadic gunfire and a great deal of yelling, wrestling and hurling of unspecified missiles going on. The house particularly seemed to be shaking with the force of the struggle. Even without Carlin, the mass of his men inside were not going to surrender easily.

It was some while before the last of the gang were subdued and rounded up in the middle of the yard, where the Ranulfiar were disarming them and tying them up. Jess was by now flagging sufficiently to just send a message into the house reporting that Carlin was currently powerless upstairs, awaiting collection. There did not, at this point, seem to be much need for his speedy removal.

After this, Cal brought Jess a bucket of water and a borrowed bandanna, with which he sponged away as much of the blood adhering to his person as he could. While he was washing, Chantal went over to the small pile of clothing which had been kicked aside in the struggle to over-run the fort and picked the items up. When Jess had cleaned up, she handed him his hat and shook out the black shirt. "Here, put this on. It's the only thing about you I won't have to darn!"

Jess took the shirt, but, before putting it on, he examined his upper left arm carefully. "Your stitches held up all right. Very professional!"

Chantal nodded in satisfaction. "Sally taught me. She figured I'd need to know how to do it right, if I was going to be around you much."

"There is an 'if'?" Jess asked, quirking up one eyebrow quizzically. Then he added almost inaudibly: "You can lead my horses to water any time." It sounded like an appropriate comment on their mutual stubbornness. Only Cal was able to interpret the true significance - and he just smiled and said nothing.

 **# # # # #**

The clean-up and the round-up finished, it was time to take stock and complete the real purpose of the raid. Slim had emerged from the house along with Vin. He and Keilder and the others outside had been drawn into the fierce fighting going on inside the house, because the majority of Carlin's men had been assembled inside and could not, as Slim had planned, be barricaded into their quarters. Now the two of them came across the yard to where Cal, Jess and Chantal were standing together and wishing for somewhere quiet to sit down – and perhaps a cool beer or even a decent cup of coffee.

Jess was looking particularly defiant, however, since he recalled very clearly the way these two friends had threatened him before the action began. He glared at them both and waved a hand at the surrounding scene: "No one's tripped over me, see?" he asserted belligerently. "And the young lady is safe and leavin' this place in perfect health!"

"Really? Are you absolutely sure about that?" Slim teased, his gaze taking in the blood-stains on Chantal's borrowed shirt.

"That's mine!" Jess retorted, unabashed.

"Well, I suppose that's one way of staking your claim!" Cal grinned at his cousin, causing a ripple of mirth through the watching Ranulfiar.

"Yeah, and it looks like new shirts all round!" Slim quipped, since the black one was actually dark grey with dust and covered with foot-marks.

Despite the teasing, Chantal could see the absolute relief in Slim's eyes as they focused on her. She was not sure exactly where the two of them stood in relation to each other, but she did know that Slim had struggled and fought and risked just as much as Jess. Whether he liked it or not, Slim Sherman deserved a huge hug too. So she gave him one.

And was hugged back - much to her surprise. Slim was so relieved that he simply acted with his characteristic care for those who mattered to him. Afterwards, he held Chantal at arm's length and said fervently: "Thank God you're all right!" His relief was not just for her safety, but because he felt Jess had, in the end, acted out of genuine protective instinct. "I can't tell you how relieved I am," Slim assured her, before admitting with a laugh, "Not least because you've saved me adding a whole lot more bruises to Jess's skin!"

Chantal looked over her shoulder at Jess and said, after due consideration, "Thank you for threatening him! But where would you find a clear space to put them?"

"Too right! But, with luck, I won't have to because he'll get the hang of looking after you properly in the end."

This made her laugh. "I don't think that's on the cards!" But it was good to feel she was cared for in such as way. Chantal had had more than enough of brothers, but, if she was ever to have an elder brother, one cut to the pattern of Slim Sherman would do fine!

Jess had been watching them with amused approval. Slim looked across at him and saw, with the clarity of long friendship that, despite the appearance of utter nonchalance, he was inwardly reeling on his feet. Before anything drastic could happen to undermine Jess's deserved reputation for endurance, Slim was at one side of him, a split second before Cal, acting on the same instinct, stepped up on the other. Their eyes met in understanding.

As Jess looked from one to the other, his voice was a conspiratorial whisper: "I'm fine. Just keep me propped up. You two are the only ones I trust not to give me away!"

This uncharacteristic humility caused chuckles all round, as it was such a monumental admission on Jess's part. But Chantal had to take Cal's place as a prop, when Vin called his deputy over to organise the disposal of the prisoners and to help tend to those of the Ranulfiar who had been injured in seizing the fort.

"You sure y're up to this?" Jess inquired as Chantal hitched his arm over her shoulders.

"I think I'll survive," she replied demurely. "Unless you're going to make a life-time habit of getting beaten senseless and then fighting a battle immediately afterwards."

"Chantal," Slim warned gravely from Jess's other side, "I think you should know that _is_ his usual method of operating."

"No kidding!" Jess and Chantal both said simultaneously.

The next moment, the main gates opened and the real cavalry thundered through, in the form of a posse of Marshalls, whose official presence had been arranged in advance by Vin, since the Ranulfiar did not operate in the public arena of the law courts. This necessarily diverted everyone's attention to the prisoners and the gate-house.

It nearly proved fatal.

Had it not been for the fact that Jess was more or less slumping between Slim and Chantal, the immediate danger might not have been spotted until it was too late. As it was, feeling he was too great a burden, Jess attempted to shift his arm from Chantal's shoulders in order to stand by himself. He stumbled and his head jerked up, his eye-line falling on the doorway of the house and the figure standing framed in it, his gun already in his hand, aimed directly at them.

"Carlin!"

Jess's strangled shout of amazement and horror rang out as he simultaneously pulled Chantal behind him and went for his gun.

A single shot rang out. Carlin collapsed and fell forward over the threshold.

It was not Jess's shot.

He straightened up, putting a hand back to pull Chantal to her feet again, but his eyes were on Slim.

"Guess I owe you one there, partner. You sure were faster than me!" Then a look of horror dawned on his face as he rolled the chamber of his gun. "Good job you were - I forgot Carlin took all m'bullets!"

A grin of pure triumph split Slim's face, but it was not because he had out-drawn Jess. Despite his expression, his voice was measured and judicial as he said: "I reckon we won't see Carlin torturing any more children!"

"Amen to that!" The affirmation came from all around him. No-one doubted the gravity of the crime or failed to rejoice because they had been able to bring it to an end.

"D'y reckon you killed him?" Jess asked, with the air of one interested in professional expertise.

"No." Slim's tone was just as neutral. "I was aiming for his shoulder. He'll live to pay for all his crimes."

"I sure hope they lock him up somewhere so dark he ain't never gonna see the light of day again!" Jess said, his voice echoing the fury which had driven him when he had beaten Carlin. "And serve him damn well right!"

"Suficiente!" Chantal reminded him.

"Suficiente," Jess agreed as they watched the fallen gang-leader carried over to join those he had once commanded. It transpired subsequently the girl, Maggie, for all her jealousy of Chantal, had set Carlin loose from his bonds while the fighting raged on the floors below.

All that remained now was to free the slaves, the press-ganged miners, and to restore the freedom and security from which they had been so brutally snatched. Everyone agreed this was Slim's task. He had discovered the situation and prepared them all for the assault and been a leader of the rescue mission. Besides, it was obvious to anyone with half an eye, how deep his real care for the children was. So they all gathered expectantly around the prison door, awaiting the moment when the freedom for which they had fought, not without the cost of injury, would become a reality.

Slim stood in front of the door and looked around the courtyard. Darkness had been driven back by the flaring torches and glowing lanterns held high in enthusiastic hands. But he suddenly realised how the mass of men, tall shadows against the light, with their injuries and weapons, their very intensity, would appear to the prisoners.

"We can't do it like this!" he stated categorically.

"Like what?" Vin was regarding him with puzzlement, as were a number of others. But not all. Some of them had children of their own. Some of them had experienced imprisonment.

Jess limped over to stand at his side. "He's right. Tell them, Hard Rock."

Slim smiled at the old nick-name, but it symbolised what the problem was. "Think what those children have been through," he appealed. "Hard treatment. Harsh handling. You fought hard tonight to free them, but how will they know that? All they'll see is another bunch of hard men. How can they know that any of us are to be trusted?"

A profound silence greeted this assessment. They all knew Slim had the right of it. Freedom needed to be accomplished without further horror or panic, which would not only add to the children's trauma, but might cause injury or even death.

Into the silence a brisk feminine voice told them: "In that case, you'd better open the door and let me go in first."

So it was that the first light of freedom to penetrate the gloom of the prison fell from the hand of a woman, strong and shining in her own right, and bearing a glowing lantern in her hand as she gently moved among those whose sufferings she had shared. But close behind her and bringing more light to the darkest part of the fortress was Slim, unmistakably strong and trustworthy and caring for all who needed his protection.


	14. Chapter 14

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 **EPILOGUE**

' _But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile_.'

Ralph Waldo Emerson

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 **14**

Mike Williams was sick and tired of being protected. He was also monumentally bored. He sat on the top of the corral gate, kicking his heels in frustration. Part of him wished he'd never confided his escape from kidnapping to his guardians, but he had been frightened and angry and uncertain whether the men would come back again. That alone broke his sleep and made him grateful Slim and Jess took the matter so seriously. At least he was going to get revenge on those who had tried to wrench him from his new-found home and safety. He trusted Slim and Jess absolutely to do it.

All the same, he had been confined to the relay station yard for ten days, not allowed to go out of sight of the house and those who were working to keep the place running in the absence of the partners. _And they'd been gone so long! Where were they_? Mike had no doubt Slim and Jess would trace the gang and bring them to justice. He just wished they'd get a move on and do it before he died of pent-up energy and frustration! With the complete faith of the young, Mike was sure his guardians could work miracles in short order.

When the miracle did come, it had him standing on the gate-post, hollering his lungs out: "Andy! Jonesy! They're comin'! It's Slim and Jess! They're back!"

Coming out of the barn, Andy Sherman heard the words with a distinct twinge of nostalgia. He'd said almost those exact words the very first time Jess had returned to the ranch with Slim. Jess's disappearances in pursuit of some link to his old life were becoming less frequent, but the knowledge that he had chosen to come back always filled Andy's heart with elation. He just needed to make sure that an over-excited Mike was not imagining things.

"You certain, Bear-cub?" He ran over to the fence and climbed up beside Mike.

"Look! See for y'self!" Mike pointed away up to the slope where the road to Cheyenne mounted an out-thrust ridge of the mountains.

Sure enough, Alamo and Traveller were unmistakable as they jogged eagerly downwards, the scent of home in their nostrils after a long, hard journey. Behind them rode two other horsemen and coming over the horizon, the boys saw three big wagons.

"D'you reckon they brought us something?" Mike asked hopefully.

Andy shook his head. "Not in wagon-loads, Mike. But they sure have brought us company." It had taken him only a split second to recognise the dark dapple-grey Arab that one of the strangers was riding. It was some time since their first visit, but they were no strangers to Andy. "It's Vin and Cal, Mike!"

"Who?" Mike was puzzled, not yet having learnt all the history which the little family of the relay station encompassed.

Andy did not stop to explain. "Come on! We'll need to get the stables ready and feed out for the horses and the wagon teams. Run and tell Jonesy they'll be needing food, then get back here, pronto, and give me a hand."

When the band of travellers finally drew into the yard, all was as ready as Andy and Mike could make it. Andy felt a flush of pride when he saw the approval of the state of the relay station in the eyes of the two men whose opinion he valued most. But it was quickly overwhelmed by the much greater pleasure of greeting everyone and welcoming them home. Not only were Cal and Vin visiting, but he spotted Chantal Picard seated alongside the driver of the first wagon. He was going to have to do a lot of introducing and explaining for Mike. Mike himself, however, was not bothered about anything except giving and receiving huge hugs from his guardians.

Jonesy came barrelling out of the house, his apron flapping and his obvious limp emphasising that keeping the place going during his boss's absence had not been without cost. His eyes lit up as he saw the visitors, but it also took him only a split second to notice and assess Jess's condition.

"Y'all welcome! Miss Chantal – Cal – Vin - all you folks. Step right inside and we'll find you some refreshments!" he invited hastily, but his doctoring instincts were in the ascendant, with Jess as their object: "You crazy Texan, get into the bunk-room before y' fall down! Cain't I let y' out of my sight without y' get y'self all tore up again!"

"Ain't time for me, Jonesy!" Jess responded with an affectionate grin as he slid carefully off Traveller.

"You mean y' just gonna pretend there ain't nothin' wrong, as usual?" the old cook and wanna-be medicine man snapped.

"No, I mean y've got no time at all to waste on me. Y've got to doctor and feed twenty patients!"

"Twenty?" Jonesy's eyes widened in dismay. "What twenty?"

"Children, Jonesy, in the wagons." Slim indicated the true nature of the cargo with a jerk of his head. Some children had been restored to their homes and more offered new homes and care in Cheyenne, but the remainder, as Jess had predicted, came home with their rescuers to Laramie. "Children – lost and found. Or have you forgotten what we set out to do?"

"Y' didn't say you were bringin' the results back with you!" Jonesy protested. "How'm I gonna find food and medicine for all so many?" But his mind was already working overtime to sort out what provisions he could utilise to serve them all.

"Don't worry, Jonesy!" Chantal gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "The cavalry is on the way."

And so they were. Round the bend from Laramie came Old Doc and Young Doc, closely followed by assorted friends, neighbours and citizens, bearing gifts of food and drink, children's clothing, bedding, bandages, and all manner of other useful things. All thanks to the modern miracle of the telegraph, which Carlin and his gang had so despised!

Mass baths in the creek, much bandaging and salving, the spreading of cloths laden with food on the banks of the stream and a great deal of comforting and hugging ensued. Finally, very much later that evening, the children had been safely bedded down in the barn, all except Andy, who was so much older and Mike, who couldn't really be sent to bed when his family had just been restored to him. Neighbours had departed and only the Sherman family, the two doctors and their guests remained sitting in the twilight on the porch.

Most of them, that is. Down at the corral, Jess and Chantal were leaning on the rails, as Jess indulged in a quiet cigarette, the final soothing touch after vast quantities of Jonesy's excellent coffee and more than his share of medicinal whiskey. It was the price he extracted when Jonesy finally managed to dragoon Jess into the privacy of the bunk-room, where he and the doctors had made a thorough job of patching him up once again. No matter how hard they tried, however, the three of them could not persuade him that he ought to be recuperating in bed. Looking down at the corral, none of them could find the heart to blame him.

Mike, however, was less tolerant. "What're they doin'?" he asked, sleepy and slightly disgruntled at not have Jess's full attention. He was pretty sure he liked the young woman with the shining hair and wicked sense of humour, because she was obviously used to being around boys and had an uninhibited sense of fun. But these attributes seemed subordinate to being exclusively around Jess right now.

"Counting stars, I expect," Andy said with the wisdom of longer acquaintance. "Don't know why they bother," he added, with the unsentimental disdain of the young. "There are so many, it's a hopeless task."

As if in agreement, the couple left the fence and wandered back to join the others on the porch. Jess flopped into his favourite rocking chair, which they had kindly left free for him, and Chantal sank down next to it, regardless of the hard boards.

"Mind your fingers," Slim told her automatically, just as he would have Andy or Mike. "He's dangerous when he starts rocking!"

"I'll bear that in mind," Chantal assured him gravely as she lent back against the chair. "But I reckon even Jess has run out of energy tonight."

There was no reply except for a slightly irritable grunt from the chair above.

"Yeah, Slim, I guess you're both too old and feeble to cope with loads of kids!" Andy quipped cheekily. "You're just fooling us about all the scouting and fighting."

There was a brief flurry of retribution from Slim, belying the assertion that he and Jess were getting decrepit. Once he had tickled his brother into submission, Slim settled back to enjoy the first peace and quiet he had had for what seemed like a very long time. _When he finally got to bed, he was going to sleep and sleep and catch up on all those nights he'd spent on watch._ _Heck, he'd out-sleep even Jess!_

Mike still felt there was something lacking in the whole adventure and had no hesitation in saying so: "Aw, Slim, y' didn't really finish the job properly, did y'?"

Both Slim and Jess sat up at this, uncertain how Mike could possibly find fault with the way they'd carried out their task.

"Why, Mike?" Slim asked perplexedly.

"Don't y' see?" Mike told him firmly. "Y' went all that way and did all that fightin' and winnin' and stuff, but y' didn't bring back a single diamond for us!"

Slim exchanged glances with Jess, remembering all the tracking and the spying and the planning, not to mention the fighting and putting paid to Bud Carlin's activities. In the end, the thing of real value which they had achieved was the young lives saved from darkness of the fortress. He thought how he might explain the difference to Mike.

"I don't think we really need the diamonds, Mike, especially if getting them causes so much suffering. If you think about it, children who are free and safe and happy - they're better than diamonds - they're like the stars, strong and shining and precious."

Someone said softly: "Amen to that!" and there was a murmur of agreement from those around him.

"Yeah," Jess murmured sleepily from the rocking chair, as his hand dropped to the bright head leaning against his knee. "Las estrellas del espiritu valiente - those stars are the only kind of stars really worth countin'."

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 **This story is partly aimed at drawing attention to the plight of child labourers in mines around the world today:**

Time magazine, Aug. 20, 2012 (picture): An 11-year-old boy works at a makeshift mine in Icabarú, near Venezuela's border with Brazil. The child works on a team with five other children, only slightly older than him, and his father who said simply, "He has to work."

The Guardian, 19 January 2016: Children as young as seven are working in perilous conditions in the Democratic Republic of the Congo to mine cobalt that ends up in smartphones, cars and computers sold to millions across the world, by household brands including Apple, Microsoft and Vodafone, according to a new investigation by Amnesty International.

Further information: International Labour Organisation: Child Labour in Gold Mining, 2006

 **Could you mind diamonds in Wyoming?**

The Wyoming Geological Survey believes that a billion-dollar diamond industry could develop in their state. Wyoming has comparable conditions to the Canadian diamond deposits, and hundreds of kimberlite pipes are believed to exist.

Acknowledgement: _For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors._


	15. Chapter 15

**Translations**

 **Chapter 1**

Hombre terco = stubborn man

Espera un momento, Terco, pour favour = Wait a minute, stubborn one, please

Debo. No hay excusa = I must. There is no excuse

Dans te reves = In your dreams

Tu est un flirteur sans principes = You are an unprincipled flirt

Escúchame = Listen to me

Como siempre = As usual

Temerario = Reckless one

ʖLo entiendes? = You understand?

Al presente, escúchame = Now listen to me

 **Chapter 2**

Sin argumento = no arguing

 **Chapter 3**

Quédate quieto = Hold still

Quédate tranquillo = Keep calm

 **Chapter 4**

Poco tonto, así es como eres = Little idiot, that's just the way you are

Voilà les dangers que nous allons partager = Here are the dangers we are going to share

 **Chapter 7**

Maton = Bully!

Estás sano y salvo = You are safe and sound

Cuente las estrellas, espiritu valiente = Count the stars, brave spirit

Pour les dangers que nous allons partager = For the dangers we will share

 **Chapter 8**

Gamberro = Thug!

Siempre = Always

Generalmente = Usually

Nunca te comportas como se esperaba = you never do anything because it's what people expect

Comprendes = you understand?

 **Chapter 13**

Eso no será necesario = That will not be necessary

Pero será muy agradable = But it will be very pleasurable

Suficiente = Enough

 **Chapter 14**

Las estrellas del espiritu valiente = the stars of the brave spirit


End file.
